


the sky itself will carry me (back to you)

by alyciaclebnam



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, re-uploaded bc the original fic was deleted :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyciaclebnam/pseuds/alyciaclebnam
Summary: "By the way, how does that work? You coming here when I call. Do you just... pop in and out of existence, or something?""It's like a magical tether," Lexa explains, ostensibly hesitant. "When you say my name, I feel a pull - right here, in my chest," she says, drawing a circle around the skin over her heart. "Which is strange in itself, seeing as I no longer possess a beating heart. I can't explain it, but I feel compelled to be wherever you are.""So it's not just me," Clarke says slowly, a hopeful expression taking over her previous frown. "There's something more to you and I, isn't there?"(or: Clarke is a seventh year student. Lexa is one of the Hogwarts ghosts. There's a connection between them that Clarke doesn't understand, but she is determined to figure it out.)





	1. a heart i swear i'd recognise (is made out of my own devices)

Clarke Griffin is slumped over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, about an inch away from faceplanting into her breakfast. The last few nights have seen her in the Gryffindor common room until past midnight, busy working on an essay for Transfiguration. She startles awake when something drops beside her head with a heavy thud.

“Sup, Griffin?”

Raven Reyes smiles smugly at Clarke as she climbs onto the bench alongside her.

“You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to hex you,” Clarke grumbles, pushing Raven’s bag away from where she’d unceremoniously dumped it on the table.

“Oh please,” Octavia Blake scoffs as she approaches the two girls and sits down opposite them. “If you hexed Raven, that would just give her an excuse to go to the hospital wing and hit on your mum while she gets fixed up.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. “Seriously, Raven? My _mother_? Have you no respect?”

“I can’t help that Madam Griffin is easy on the eyes,” Raven says breezily, acting as if the tips of her ears haven’t gone red. “If she hadn’t already rejected me-”

“Twice,” Octavia interjects as she piles sausages and bacon onto her plate.

“ _Only_ because it would be an inappropriate workplace relationship, since I’m a student and she’s the school matron,” Raven points out. “If that weren’t a problem, then I could have totally been your new step-mum, Princess.”

Clarke knows that her friend is just joking, but she flicks some of her cold scrambled eggs at her face anyway. “Don’t test me, Raven; I’m halfway to sending you back to the Ravenclaw table as it is. And don’t call me Princess.”

“You don’t tell _Finn_ to stop calling you that,” Raven says teasingly.

Clarke knows that Raven is trying hard to keep her tone light, but she can still feel the subtle bite in her words. She sighs at the way Raven’s eyes harden slightly, and ignores how Octavia has abandoned her breakfast in favour of looking between the two of them concernedly.

Finn Collins is a Hufflepuff boy who has recently expressed a romantic interest in Clarke. She will admit that he _is_ somewhat cute, with his easy-going smile and his warm brown eyes. But there’s a whole childhood’s worth of history between Raven and Finn – a first date, a first kiss, a first _love_ ; all well before either of them set foot into Hogwarts – and despite the fact that they’ve been broken up for a while now, Clarke could never hurt Raven like that.

“Raven,” Clarke begins earnestly. “I would never do that to you. I know how much Finn means to you, even after all this time.”

There’s a few seconds of tense silence, but Raven eventually relaxes again.

“I’m sorry for snapping, Clarke. I just…“ Raven exhales heavily through her nose. Clarke gives her a consoling smile. “It’s _Finn_.”

Clarke nods. She knows that Raven hates talking about her failed relationship with Finn, so she nudges Raven’s empty plate and gestures to the dishes piled high with food.

“Better grab something before it disappears. The house-elves don’t keep everything on the table forever – believe me, I’ve tried asking.”

Raven shoots her an appreciative smile. Octavia goes back to eating her breakfast, apparently convinced that her two best friends have resolved their issue, and a comfortable silence ensues.

It only lasts so long.

Bellamy Blake comes swaggering towards them and drops down heavily onto the bench beside his sister. Clarke grimaces at the black eye and split lip that he’s sporting.

“What in Merlin’s name did you do now, Bell?” Octavia asks, inspecting his injuries with a frown.

“Got into a fight,” he says proudly.

Clarke rolls her eyes. Bellamy was such an idiot sometimes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Raven says bluntly. “I couldn’t tell by the shiner and the vampire drool.”

“Who’s Sherlock? And what’s a shiner?” Bellamy asks confusedly; Octavia looks equally perplexed.

Like Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia are half-bloods. But whereas Clarke has been equally exposed to both Muggle and wizarding culture – courtesy of her Muggle father (before he passed away) and her witch mother – Octavia and Bellamy have only ever known the magical life, since their parents died young and they were raised with an adoptive wizarding family. In contrast, Raven was Muggle-born and only found out about magic on her eleventh birthday when she received her Hogwarts letter in the mail.

While Raven regales Bellamy with tales of the great Muggle detective Sherlock Holmes, Clarke Summons a small bottle of dittany from her bag. She slides it across the table to Octavia, who takes it and begins dabbing at her brother’s cut lip while he listens raptly to Raven’s stories. In seconds, the once broken skin becomes whole and shiny and pink. Octavia returns the bottle with a grateful smile and Clarke tucks it back into her bag.

“You never told us who you hurt,” Clarke interrupts Raven and Bellamy, knowing full well that the two of them could go on about Sherlock Holmes forever – Bellamy could sit and listen to anything remotely literary for hours at a time, and Raven just loved to hear her own voice.

“And who hurt you,” Octavia adds pointedly.

Bellamy grunts, obviously displeased at being interrupted. He nods over towards the Slytherin table. “Three guesses who.”

Clarke scans the table and rolls her eyes when she catches sight of Cage Wallace. The Slytherin boy’s usually quaffed hair is ruffled, and he has a nasty bruise blooming across both eyes and down one cheek.

Octavia’s lips curl in distaste. “What did that racist pureblood do this time?”

“He kept saying how he couldn’t believe that a half-blood like me could get into Slytherin,” Bellamy says gruffly. “Like the darkest wizard in history wasn’t a half-blood.”

“Not sure why you _want_ to compare yourself to Voldemort but, y’know,” Raven says with a chuckle. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Octavia ignores Raven and shoots her brother a disappointed look. “That’s all it took for you to go after him? He’s been saying stuff like that for years; I thought you had more self control than that.”

Bellamy doesn’t meet her eyes, but he reluctantly admits, “That’s not why I fought him.”

Clarke and Raven exchange knowing looks, but Octavia just frowns uncomprehendingly.

“Why did you do it then?”

“He insulted you,” Bellamy confesses quietly. “He said that even though I was a halfie, at least I managed to get sorted into Slytherin, the only decent house at this school. Then he called you a disgrace for being sorted into Gryffindor.”

Octavia softens at the admission. “Bell…”

Clarke lets them have their moment. She allows the early morning chatter from the rest of the students to wash over her, and her eyes wander across the other house tables looking for something else to focus on. Her gaze trails over the Slytherin table at the far end of the hall – pointedly avoiding Cage Wallace and his permanent sneer – when she locks eyes with a girl seated directly in the middle of the bench.

There is suddenly a dull ache in her chest and she swears she feels something squeezing at her heart.

The other students seem to have given the girl a considerable berth; there is no one sitting two spaces either side of her, and no one across from her either. Astonishingly, the seating arrangement isn’t the strangest thing about her.

(And neither is the fact that she’s obviously a ghost.)

Even from three tables away, Clarke is convinced she can feel the sorrow radiating from the ghostly girl’s gaze. The ghost immediately turns away when she realises that someone is staring at her. Clarke tries to place her; she thought she knew all of the Hogwarts ghosts, but this girl just isn’t in her memory.

She elbows Raven none too gently, causing her to accidentally choke down a bite of toast.

“What the hell, Clarke?”

Clarke pours Raven a glass of orange juice to soothe her irritated throat and asks, “Who’s that ghost? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before.”

When Raven discovers whom Clarke is referring to, all she does is choke on her drink.

“ _Fuck._ Shit, I- uh-”

Octavia and Bellamy swivel around in their seats to catch a glimpse of the ghost, and almost immediately turn back with widened eyes. Clarke raises an eyebrow at all of their reactions.

“I get the feeling that I’m missing something,” she says dryly.

“No!” Raven exclaims, too quickly for Clarke’s liking. “You’re not missing anything!”

Clarke’s eyes flicker between the three of them; Octavia is determinedly avoiding her gaze, which is a dead giveaway that there’s something they aren’t telling her. Bellamy sighs.

“Her name is Lexa Woods,” he says resignedly, chancing one last glance at the ghost. “And don’t get any ideas, Clarke – she’s not exactly a people-person. You’d just be asking for trouble.”

Raven then changes the subject without preamble, and Clarke understands a dismissal when she hears one. She wonders why it is they’re so determined to not talk about Lexa Woods.

***

Honestly, Clarke’s friends should have known that she wasn’t the type to just _accept_ things.

***

“Hey.”

The ghost remains silent, hovering in front of the library window overlooking the Quidditch training grounds. Clarke clears her throat and licks her lips, mouth suddenly dry. Her heart skips a beat.

“Hi,” she tries again.

The ghost makes no move to acknowledge her. Clarke sighs. At least Bellamy was telling the truth when he said that Lexa wasn’t a people-person.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Lexa merely passes through the window, leaving Clarke to frown at the space she once occupied. A stifled giggle comes from behind Clarke, and she spins around to see a first year Hufflepuff obviously laughing at her failed efforts to interact with the ghost.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll take fifty points from your house.”

The student quietens, eyeing the _Head Girl_ badge pinned to her chest. He nods, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Satisfied that her secret will remain safe, Clarke grudgingly stalks out of the library.

***

Her second attempt does not go any better.

They’re in the library again, but this time it’s ten minutes before closing and they are alone between rows of advanced Transfiguration books that are scarcely accessed by any other students.

Clarke immediately abandons her essay when she sees the tell-tale shimmer of a ghostly individual passing through the shelves only a short distance from her study table. Her heart seizes in her chest for a fraction of a second, and she somehow knows that it is Lexa.

“Lexa, wait!”

She doubts the ghost will listen to her, so she’s pleasantly surprised when Lexa halts just before she moves through the next row of shelves. Clarke stands nearby; far enough to give the ghost a generous amount of breathing room – not that she really needed it – but close enough to speak to her comfortably.

“I just wanted to know-”

Madam Byrne, the librarian, interrupts her, appearing at the end of the row with a glare.

“It’s closing time,” she says to Clarke, barely sparing the ghost a glance. “You need to leave now.”

Clarke pulls back the sleeve of her robes and checks her wristwatch; a gift from her dad before he died. 7:50pm.

“I still have ten minutes,” she tries to argue.

Madam Byrne scoffs. “My library, my rules. If I come back to find you still here, be assured that you will never set foot in this place again.”

The librarian stalks away then, presumably to kick the rest of the students out, and Lexa chooses that moment to continue on through the shelves. Clarke is torn between scowling at Madam Byrne’s retreating back, and staring longingly at the space where Lexa disappeared.

***

Unfortunately for Clarke, the third time is not the charm.

She’s in the kitchens, sampling different types of pudding that the house-elves push into her hands. The house-elves look at her expectantly with every dish she tries.

“What did you put in this, Zoran?” Clarke asks through another mouthful of pudding. She swallows and, upon second thought, shakes her head. “You know what – I don’t even care. Whatever it is, it tastes _amazing_.”

“Thank you, Miss!” Zoran says brightly. He smiles at her and takes the empty bowl when she’s done, tottering back to join the other elves.

It’s her guilty pleasure, coming down to the kitchens for late night snacks. She used to feel bad about it, until she realised that the house-elves were all too willing to serve her. She makes it a point to be extra kind to them anyway.

Clarke is licking away the remainder of the treacle pudding from her lips when one of the house-elves makes a commotion on the other side of the kitchen. She can just see a flash of silvery-grey in the dim lighting, and her heart stutters.

“Miss Lexa!” the house-elf squeaks. “We have your-”

Lexa cuts the elf off and speaks to him so quietly that Clarke cannot hear a thing. The elf nods and retrieves a covered dish from one of the kitchen benches. He Disapparates with a loud crack.

Clarke briefly wonders if this attempt is going to end badly too.

She calls the ghost’s name out anyway.

“Lexa!”

Lexa doesn’t turn to face her, but she doesn’t disappear through the wall either. Clarke takes that as a good sign and approaches the ghost cautiously. She stands beside Lexa, barely an arm’s length away.

The ghost doesn’t move an inch, and Clarke takes a moment to study her profile. The delicate slope of her nose, the sharpness of her jaw, the defiant jut of her chin.

She wonders why she feels so drawn to her, why her heart practically stops at the sight of her.

“Go away, Clarke.”

Shocked into silence by the surprising softness of her voice and the way her tongue clicks around the 'k' in her name, Clarke merely stares at the spot where Lexa passes through the wall and back into the heart of the castle.

***

Clarke is surrounded by her friends – Raven, Octavia, Bellamy and Wells – at dinner one evening. Despite the fact that they’re all in different houses (Clarke and Octavia excluded), they sit together at the Gryffindor table.

Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, another two of her Ravenclaw friends in the year below, join them halfway through the meal wearing matching grins.

“Uh oh,” Bellamy says when the boys take their seats. “I smell trouble.”

“Yeah, well I can smell something toxic,” Raven says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Did you guys forget to use a cleaning spell after your last bender? ‘Cause my nostrils have just been assaulted by some really fuckin’ potent whisky.”

“Ah!” Wells makes a show of covering his ears with his hands and says, “Don’t talk about alcohol consumption in front of me! As Head Boy, I’d be obligated to report you to your Head of House.”

Clarke chuckles at Wells’ antics. “You’re not on duty, Jaha. Right now, we’re just friends talking amongst ourselves. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

“Yeah, listen to the Head Girl, Wells,” Jasper says with a wink. “ _We’re just friends talking amongst ourselves_.”

Wells rolls his eyes but uncovers his ears anyway. He pulls his wand out from beneath his robes and mutters a quick cleaning spell to get rid of the stench surrounding the Ravenclaw boys.

“I don’t think Professor Sinclair would be willing to let you off easy,” he explains when Monty thanks him. “Not after the last time you were caught.”

“Why did you come in smelling like the Hog’s Head, anyway?” Octavia asks, looking between the two boys. “Another brew gone wrong?”

“That’s the exact _opposite_ reason, actually,” Jasper begins pointedly, reaching for the bag that he’d dropped beneath the seat when he sat down. He pulls out a nondescript bottle full of clear liquid and quickly shows it off before tucking it away. “We’ve finally perfected it!”

“Holy shit,” Raven says, almost awestruck. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Monty answers. “You just saw the first official bottle of Masper Moonshine.”

“Masper?” Clarke repeats amusedly.

Monty shrugs, but he still wears a proud little grin. “It’s a working title.”

“But it’s finally finished!” Jasper says excitedly. “Our first bottle of proper moonshine!”

“You’re sure it’s not going to almost poison us like the last batch?” Bellamy asks sceptically. “As much as I trust the Healing skills Clarke’s learned from her mother, I don’t want to risk dying again…”

Clarke zones out when she catches a glint of silvery-grey across the Hall and her heartbeat falters.

It’s Lexa, of course, sitting in her usual spot in the middle of the Slytherin table. Ghosts can neither eat nor drink, so Clarke thinks that maybe she is just there to socialise with the other students – maybe even the other ghosts.

But the seats around her remain empty, and none of the other ghosts so much as approach her. Clarke is just about to turn her attention back towards her friends’ conversation when Lexa looks up.

They lock eyes, and Clarke can’t find it in herself to look away.

“Not a good idea, Griffin.”

Raven’s low voice breaks her from her staring match with Lexa, and she turns to face her friend instead. Clarke shoots her a puzzled look, but Raven’s expression remains unreadable.

Clarke wonders – again – why everyone is so determined to keep her away from Lexa Woods.

***

The next time Clarke and Lexa cross paths, neither of them are expecting it.

Clarke is straddling the windowsill in the highest room of the Astronomy Tower, one leg planted on the floor and the other dangling in the open air. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lexa pass through the closed door and immediately turn back around once she realises that the room is already occupied.

“I never told you my name,” Clarke says, turning her gaze from the stars and pinning it on the ghost. “But you said it before, when we were down in the kitchens.”

Lexa freezes halfway through the door. She backtracks so that she’s no longer floating between this room and the corridor outside, but doesn’t meet Clarke’s eyes.

“It’s late,” she says stiffly. “The Astronomy Tower is out-of-bounds except for classes.”

“I know,” Clarke says with a small smile.

Lexa’s form glows in the darkness. Clarke watches her fingers curl into fists by her sides.

“Clarke-”

Clarke cuts her off, “You can’t tell me to go away again, Lexa. I was here first.”

“You shouldn’t sit like that. It’s dangerous,” Lexa says instead, eyes trained on the sky behind Clarke.

Clarke cocks her head. “Why do you care if I live or die?”

Curiously enough, Lexa clenches her jaw and finally meets her gaze. When Clarke sees the grief swirling in her silvery eyes, she feels her heart ache dully. She swings her leg back over the windowsill and stands with a sigh.

“Why are you here, Lexa?”

“Why are _you_ here, Clarke?” Lexa counters, lifting her chin boldly.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I asked first,” she says coolly.

Lexa seems reluctant, but she answers anyway. “I’m a ghost; I can do whatever I want,” she says simply.

Clarke thinks that there’s more to it than that, but she lets it go for now.

“I’m supposed to be on night patrol with the Head Boy – Wells Jaha – but he’s a good friend and sometimes I ask him to cover for me while I come up here to look at the stars,” Clarke admits. “Before he died, my dad quoted some Muggle philosopher: _Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars_ -”

“- _nor between well and badly arranged constellations_ ,” Lexa finishes.

Clarke is surprised that Lexa knows the quote. The ghost is wide-eyed, seemingly alarmed that she’d spoken at all.

Clarke decides not to push her luck and continues on, “He asked me not to think of his death as a _bad_ thing. He always said that to live life to the fullest, you have to acknowledge every experience – good or bad, happy or sad – as just that, an experience. A learning opportunity. Being up here, where I can see the stars… it makes me feel closer to him. Closer to the people I’ve lost.”

Lexa softens at the admission. She has a strange look in her eye – something that looks inexplicably like understanding, if Clarke had to name it.

“I won’t tell anyone you were here if you don’t tell anyone I was here,” Lexa says eventually.

“I thought you were a ghost and you could do whatever you want?” Clarke counters.

Lexa merely straightens her posture, standing tall and proud, like she hadn’t contradicted herself at all. Clarke bites back a laugh.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” Lexa says softly, and Clarke detects the finality in her tone.

The ghost passes through the closed door once more. Clarke smiles at the space where she disappeared. It wasn’t much, but progress is progress, she thinks.

When she descends the Astronomy Tower staircase a few minutes later, she almost walks straight into Wells, who is standing half hidden in the shadows on the ground floor.

“Was that Lexa Woods’ ghost I saw passing through here?” he asks, brows pulled together in concern.

Clarke shrugs. “What’s it to you?”

“You shouldn’t be talking to her,” Wells says sternly.

Clarke frowns at his reprimanding tone, and his attempt to dodge the question. “Why does everyone act like she’s a pariah? Lexa’s just a ghost; she can’t possibly hurt me.”

Wells presses his lips together firmly and then says, “Trust us, Clarke. You should leave well enough alone.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I can’t do that, Wells. I can’t explain why, but I feel… _connected_ to her. My heart, it goes crazy whenever-”

“Clarke, _please_. Leave Lexa Woods alone. It’s for your own good,” the Hufflepuff boy cuts her off imploringly, and then reaches for her hand. “Let me walk you back to Gryffindor Tower, okay?”

Clarke’s sure that Wells is only offering so she doesn’t run into Lexa again. She snatches her hand away from him and stalks towards the exit alone.

“I can walk myself back!” she calls out over her shoulder.

***

Despite herself, Clarke doesn’t attempt to contact Lexa for over a week. On top of her Head Girl duties, she’s busy keeping up with all her N.E.W.T.-level classes and assignments. She feels like she’s working harder than a house-elf, and she reluctantly pushes Lexa from her mind in favour of focusing on her studies.

 _It’s only for a while_ , she tells herself. _Lexa isn’t going anywhere. I’ll have time to talk to her later, surely…_

***

Clarke is lazing on the floor by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It's sometime past midnight, and she’s trying to put the finishing touches on her Transfiguration essay, which is officially due today.

Lexa floats through the portrait hole and hovers in the chair beside the one that Clarke’s leaning on, and Clarke suddenly – strangely – feels more at ease, even though her heart begins to beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. The past few days have been hectic to say the least, and Lexa’s presence somehow makes all the stress melt away.

Clarke spares Lexa a smile before turning back to her parchment.

“I was here first,” she reminds the ghost, scanning her work for spelling errors. “You can’t ask me to go away this time, either.”

In her peripheral vision, Clarke sees the corners of Lexa’s mouth quirk upwards.

“I wasn’t going to,” Lexa says faintly.

Clarke looks up at her, pleasantly surprised that the ghost is so willingly interacting with her. Then it strikes her.

“Did you come to Gryffindor Tower just to talk to me?”

Lexa’s silence speaks volumes.

“I was merely wondering why you hadn’t bothered me in the last few days,” she says instead, pointedly ignoring Clarke’s growing smile. “I was checking to see how many more days reprieve I can expect.”

“You missed me, didn’t you?” Clarke says teasingly.

Lexa frowns. “No.”

Clarke grins knowingly. “I didn’t forget about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve just been busy with this Transfiguration essay. I’ve given Gustus like three copies, but he keeps saying that I’m missing something. He won’t tell me what it is though.”

Lexa gestures to Clarke’s parchment. “May I?”

Clarke is taken aback by the offer, but she nods and turns the paper towards Lexa. She watches the ghost read through her work.

“You’ve discussed the difficulties of Untransfiguration in detail, and the precision required to perform such magic, but may I suggest that you delve into the implications of incorrect or poorly executed Untransfigurative spells?” Lexa offers. “I believe that’s what Professor Gustus is looking for.”

Clarke stares up at the ghost with admiration shining her eyes.

“You’re a _genius_ , Lexa. Honestly. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Clarke.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and the scratching of Clarke’s quill. Eventually, Clarke blows on her parchment to dry the ink and rolls it up with a satisfied smile. She stretches her arms and back, joints popping and cracking like nobody’s business.

Lexa grimaces at the noise.

“Sorry,” Clarke says sheepishly. “Bad habit.”

Lexa nods understandingly. “We all have one.”

Clarke can’t help herself. “What’s your bad habit?” she asks curiously.

Lexa looks away. “I can’t talk about it,” she says simply, before returning her gaze to Clarke.

Clarke offers her a tight-lipped smile anyway. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Lexa doesn’t acknowledge the apology. “You have to understand, Clarke – there are some things that I cannot discuss with you. It’s not for lack of want, but because I am bound by obligation.”

The explanation sounds ominous, so Clarke doesn’t question it. Everyone is entitled to their own secrets, after all. She speaks up after a stretch of silence.

“Everyone tells me that I shouldn’t talk to you at all.”

Lexa nods once. “They’re right.”

Clarke draws her brows together in confusion. “Why?”

“It’s complicated,” is all that Lexa offers.

“So un-complicate it for me,” Clarke suggests.

“I can’t,” Lexa says simply.

“Can’t or won’t?” Clarke challenges.

“Can’t,” Lexa says, a slight bite in her tone. “In case you haven’t caught on, this is one of the things I can’t discuss with you, Clarke.”

Clarke crosses her arms huffily. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I actually wanted to know anyway.”

Lexa’s lips curl into a half smile. “Sure you didn’t,” she drawls. “You’re being a child, Clarke.”

“Am not.”

Lexa smirks. “I beg to differ.”

They hear a door opening somewhere up in the girls’ dormitories and Clarke turns to face the stairs, wondering who else would be awake at this hour. From the corner of her eye, she sees Lexa sink through her chair and disappear from the common room.

“What the- Lexa?”

Clarke spins around on the floor, as if she’ll find Lexa perched on a different chair instead. But the ghost remains missing, and Clarke remains confused. Octavia appears in the doorway to the dormitory stairs with mussed hair and squinted eyes.

“Who are you talking to, Clarke?”

“Uh,” Clarke stammers, still glancing around to find where Lexa had vanished. “No one. I was just, um, talking to myself. You can go back to sleep now.”

Octavia, presumably still half asleep, accepts the excuse without question. “Mmmkay. G’night, Clarke. Come to bed soon, yeah?”

“I will,” Clarke promises. “Night, O.”

She waits for Octavia to ascend the stairs.

“Lexa?” Clarke whispers once she hears the faint click of the dormitory door closing. “Where did you go?”

Lexa’s head emerges from the seat that she had occupied only seconds before.

“Your friend – she’s gone?”

“Yeah, I sent her back to bed,” Clarke answers distractedly. “Where did _you_ go? _Why_ did you go?”

Lexa rises further upward until she’s fully out of the seat. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she confesses.

“Here, as in, the Gryffindor common room?” Clarke questions.

Lexa hums. “Amongst other things, yes.”

Clarke sighs. “This is another one of those things you can’t talk about, isn’t it?”

Lexa only offers her a weak smile, which Clarke returns. They look at each other for a moment longer, before Lexa speaks up again.

“I won’t keep you from your rest,” she says, though Clarke notes that she rises from her seat somewhat reluctantly. “I’m sure your friend will be waiting for you in your dormitory.”

Clarke is pretty sure that Octavia will _not_ be waiting up for her, judging by the tired look in her eyes when she came down earlier. She doesn’t correct Lexa though, and watches as the ghost floats towards the portrait hole.

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

The ghost pauses just before the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she says softly, before disappearing through the exit.

Clarke retreats to her dormitory with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad news: in a series of unfortunate events that i call my life, the original fic was accidentally deleted. i've contacted the ao3 support staff but i've been informed that there's nothing i can do to recover anything. i'm very sad to see all your kudos and kind comments vanish into the aether :(
> 
> for those of you who are new to this fic, hello and thank you for reading! for those of you who have read this fic before, i will be re-uploading chapters every couple of days :) i have very nearly finished the final chapter (the one that you guys had waited months for), which is exciting
> 
> p.s. come say hi on tumblr @ alyciaclebnam. we can lament the loss of the original story together, and maybe i could give sneak peeks of the final chapter ;)


	2. (paint a portrait of my mystery) only close my eyes and you are here with me

_Destination, determination, deliberation._

_One must be completely_ determined _to reach one’s_ destination _, and move without haste, but with_ deliberation _._

 _There’s only two weeks until the Apparition test, and Clarke will be damned if she fails. Just because she accidentally Apparated herself 10 feet in the air during the last practice session and ended up in the hospital wing with a twisted ankle, does_ not _mean that she’s terribly_ _bad at Apparating; she just couldn’t concentrate at the time, not with all the noise surrounding her._

_(It was hard trying to focus in a room with a hundred other Hogwarts students. Now that she’s in the comfort of her own house – thank Merlin for the Easter holidays – Clarke figures that she might have a better chance of Apparating successfully.)_

_Clarke forces the dingy walls of the basement from her mind and tries to focus on her destination – her bedroom, which is two storeys above. She clenches her hands and screws up her face (she knows neither will help but it’s like a knee-jerk reaction to wishing she could be sucked into nothingness and transported to a different place, honestly) and she wills herself to appear in her room upstairs._

Bedroom _,_ bedroom, bedroom _, she repeats in her mind._ Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom…

_Clarke hears a faint pop and feels the strangest, most uncomfortable sensation; like she’s being pressed in from all sides, and there’s no air, and she can’t move, and–_

_Then suddenly it all stops._

_She opens her eyes. Then she closes them. And she opens them again._

_Well. She was in a bedroom, alright. It just didn’t happen to be_ her _bedroom._

_“I don’t remember sending for female company.”_

_Clarke’s neck turns towards the voice so fast, she’s surprised that her head doesn’t twist right off. Sitting on the bed at the far end of the room – a large four-poster bed, Clarke notes, with dark curtains and expensive looking sheets – is a girl wearing a silky emerald dressing gown and an amused smirk._

_She has full lips and regal cheekbones, and her green eyes twinkle mischievously in the light. Clarke can’t help but stare. She’s beautiful._

_The girl eyes Clarke’s pyjamas – a frilly white tank top that she’d pulled on without a second thought, and grey shorts with little footballs printed on them._

_“That’s a lovely ensemble you’re wearing,” she says lightly, when Clarke still doesn’t say a word._

_Clarke blushes and snaps out of her dumbfounded state. She suddenly feels incredibly exposed under this girl’s gaze, and tugs at the bottom of her shorts where they rest barely halfway down her thighs. When that doesn’t make her feel any better, she moves to fiddle with her wand, which is tucked into her waistband._

_“Sorry for bursting into your room,” Clarke says with an apologetic smile. “I was just preparing for my upcoming Apparition test, but I obviously need more practice. I’ll get out of your hair now.”_

_She heads towards the door, wondering how far she’s managed to Apparate herself this time, and moreover, how she’s going to get home safely. Trying to Apparate again probably isn’t a good idea, she supposes, considering the mess she’s landed herself in the first time. She’s already got a hand on the doorknob when the girl calls out for her to stop._

_Clarke looks at her confusedly. Did she want her to stay or something?_

_“My parents will question me if they see a stranger leaving my quarters,” the girl explains. “I’d rather not face an inquisition at this hour.”_

_Clarke frowns not only at the idea of being caught by the girl’s parents, but at the strangely formal way she talks._

_“But how am I supposed to get home?” Clarke asks. “I don’t trust myself to Apparate again, not after this.”_

_The girl is quiet for a few seconds._

_“I’ll escort you myself,” she says eventually. “Are you comfortable with Side-Along Apparition?”_

_Clarke grimaces. “Yeah… no offence, but I don’t want to end up with half my body on the other side of the country. How do I know you’re not just as bad as I am at Apparating?”_

_“You don’t,” the girl agrees. “But you don’t have another option at this point, do you?”_

_Clarke takes a moment to consider it, though she already knows that the girl is right. She has no choice but to trust her. She sighs and thinks about the landmarks that are near her house, some place for the girl to visualise when she Apparates._

_“How familiar are you with London?” Clarke asks, taking a few hesitant steps towards the bed._

_The girl blinks slowly, as if in thought. “I know the city well enough. Do you have a specific destination in mind?”_

_Clarke tells her where she wants to go, and the girl nods. She stands from her bed, holding out a hand – a clear request for Clarke to take it. Once their fingers are intertwined (something Clarke thinks is probably unnecessary, but she certainly isn’t going to complain), the girl asks if she’s ready._

_Clarke nods. The girl squeezes her hand lightly, and then she’s being sucked into a suffocating vortex of blackness. When they emerge into the night air, Clarke sucks in a deep breath before trying to find her bearings._

_They’re in a public park not far from her house. The familiar greenery is such a relief, Clarke feels like she can breathe properly again. Looking down at her body, which is perfectly whole and definitely not splinched, she grins._

_“Do you go to Hogwarts?” the girl asks, when Clarke finally turns back to her._

_“Yes,” Clarke replies. “How did you know?”_

_“It’s one of the closest magic schools in the area. I made an educated guess.”_

_“And what about you?” Clarke asks. She doesn’t think the girl is a Hogwarts student – she’s sure she would have remembered seeing her around before._

_“I used to go to Beauxbatons,” she says nonchalantly._

_“Used to?” Clarke questions, brows raised._

_“It’s complicated,” the girl says with a shrug. “But I should go now. Perhaps I’ll see you around at Hogwarts, when school is back in session.”_

_She loosens her fingers and separates their palms – Clarke flushes when she realises that they’ve been holding hands this entire time – before she starts to walk away. Clarke only registers what the girl has said when she’s already ten steps out._

_When Clarke finally realises the implications of her words, she calls out, “You’re coming to Hogwarts!”_

_The girl turns around, though she continues walking backward. She says nothing, but even in the darkness Clarke can see the smirk on her lips._

_“That wasn’t an answer,” Clarke says loudly._

_“You didn’t ask a question,” the girl shoots back. With a grin, she adds, “I’m Lexa, by the way. In case you want to try and find me later – at Hogwarts, of course.”_

_The girl – Lexa – then Disapparates into the night, and all Clarke can do is stare at the empty space where her lips once were._

***

It was bizarre, to say the least – seeing Lexa as a human and not a ghost. Her eyes were so _green_.

Clarke writes it off as the most strangely satisfying dream she’s had in a long time – including the one where she was a central midfielder for Arsenal and scored the winning goal in a game against Tottenham Hotspur.

(She and her father had a shared thing for football. Sue her.)

She tries her best to forget the way Lexa’s lips curled when she smirked in her dream, and gets ready for the day ahead.

***

Clarke is heading from one class to another when she runs into Raven in a crowded corridor.

She circles her fingers around the girl’s wrist and asks, “Hey, do you have a second?”

When Raven nods, Clarke leads her into an alcove so they’re out of the way of the other students making their way past. She offers up her dad’s watch with a sigh. She’d been so distracted by last night’s dream with Lexa, she hadn’t noticed that the minute hand was spinning round without stopping, and the hour hand wasn’t moving at all.

“It’s gone haywire again,” she explains. “Do you think you can you fix it?”

Clarke’s father’s watch was battery operated, so just like every other kind of Muggle technology, it didn’t work properly on Hogwarts grounds. Raven, being the genius that she was, had found a way to enchant the watch so that it wasn’t affected by the magic in the air. Until that morning, it had been working perfectly fine.

“The enchantment must have worn off or something,” Raven says, taking the watch and examining it with a frown. “Leave it with me, and I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ray,” Clarke says gratefully. She nods toward the corridor exit. “Sorry to dump and run, but I have to head to Charms – you know Cartwig hates it when students are late.”

Raven makes a face. “Isn’t she best friends with your mum though? Don’t you get like, a special pass for being Abby’s daughter?”

“No way,” Clarke laughs. “If anything, Callie is _harder_ on me because she’s friends with my mum.”

Raven chuckles at her misfortune. “Sucks to be you, Griffin.”

“See you at lunch!” Clarke says before she steps into the chaos that is the corridor between classes.

Thankfully, she gets to the Charms classroom with a minute to spare. She hurriedly takes her seat beside Octavia and greets Bellamy, who is sitting at the table on her other side. She smiles at Nathan Miller, the Gryffindor boy who is Bellamy’s friend and seating partner during class.

“Alright, settle down,” Professor Cartwig calls out as she walks in through the door. She makes her way to the front and her eyes briefly sweep over them, most likely taking a mental attendance. She continues, “Today we’ll be focusing on substantive charms. Who can tell me what a substantive charm is?”

A lone hand rises in the front row, and the teacher nods at the student. Maya Vie speaks quietly but assuredly.

“A substantive charm is one which is used to solidify matter, particularly matter that is magical in nature."

Professor Cartwig tuts. “A definition straight from _The Standard Book of Spells_. A little boring, but it’ll do – five points to Gryffindor. We’ll begin with the incantation…”

***

“... and don’t forget to flick your wand downward at the end of the spell,” Professor Cartwig finishes. “That’s all, folks. Practice at your own pace for the remainder of the lesson.”

With that, the teacher paces between the desks and watches as the seventh year students try to use substantive charms to solidify the swirling mist that she’d cast about the classroom.

While Octavia is busy swishing her wand and mumbling an incantation – the _incorrect_ incantation, from what Clarke can hear – Clarke notices a set of eyes that glance at her every so often. She nudges Octavia when she catches them watching her a third time. Octavia lowers her wand with a huff.

“What is it, Clarke?”

“Why does Anya keep staring at me?”

Octavia rolls her eyes and lifts her wand back up. “Don’t be paranoid, she’s probably not even looking at you.”

Octavia chooses that moment to peek over at Anya Greene, a Slytherin girl who wore a perpetually irritated expression, who was most definitely looking at Clarke.

“Or not,” she mutters under her breath.

Clarke smiles smugly at her. “You were saying?”

“Okay, so maybe she’s looking at you,” Octavia concedes, dropping her wand arm again. “Did you ever think that maybe it has nothing to do with you?”

“She’s staring at me but it has nothing to do with me?” Clarke repeats doubtfully. “Sure. Whatever you say, O.”

“Shut up, Clarke.”

“Seriously though,” Clarke whines. Anya is a very intimidating person, and she has no idea why she would even _be_ on the Slytherin’s radar. “Just _look_ at her-”

Octavia cuts her off sharply. “I’m not going to look at her again.”

“What?” Clarke frowns at the unexpectedly harsh tone. “Why-”

Octavia just shakes her head. Clarke takes another peek over at Anya’s table and realises who she’s sitting next to – Lincoln Woods, the Gryffindor boy who Octavia has been dancing around for the past two years.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Not _O_ , I meant- oh, nevermind,” Clarke shakes her head, realising that that sentence would probably end with her talking in circles. She asks instead, “What happened between you and Lincoln? Last I checked, you were going to ask him to go with you on the next Hogsmeade trip.”

“I did ask,” Octavia confesses, giving her wand one last flick before giving up on the spell.

“And what did he say?”

Octavia sighs and drops her wand on the desk. “He said that he couldn’t go with me.”

“Seriously?” Clarke says, incredulity lacing her tone. “Everyone knows that he likes you just as much as you like him.”

Octavia gives her a tight-lipped smile. “You’re not the only one who’s been warned to stay away from someone.”

Clarke thinks about Lexa, and how everyone has told her to steer clear of the ghost. She glances at Octavia’s brother, dutifully practicing the substantive charm at the table next to her, and lowers her voice.

It isn’t really necessary though, since Professor Cartwig takes that moment to loudly reprimand a student for enchanting chunks of solidified mist to repeatedly knock into the back of someone’s head. “John Murphy! Am I taking a class with seventh years or second years? Ten points from Slytherin!”

“Is it because of Bellamy?” Clarke asks Octavia gently, while everyone else – including Bellamy – is distracted by Murphy being scolded.

Octavia shakes her head sadly. “ _My_ family isn’t the problem – it’s his. He comes from a traditionalist pureblood family, and they ridicule him for being sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Being seen with a half-blood Gryff would just make things worse for him.”

Clarke reaches for her hand and squeezes it sympathetically. “That sucks, O.”

“I know,” Octavia shrugs. She picks her wand back up. “But just because we can’t be together right now, doesn’t mean we can’t ever be together.”

“What does that mean?” Clarke asks curiously.

“I suggested that we run away together after we graduate,” Octavia says nonchalantly, attempting the hard flick that’s supposed to follow the incantation again.

Clarke gently corrects her wand movement. “And what did he say?”

“He said that although he’s willing to leave _his_ family behind,” Octavia pauses and looks at Clarke pointedly. “He won’t force me to leave mine behind as well.”

Clarke smiles softly. “He’s right. We’d miss you too much. But don’t worry, O. You’ll both figure it out, I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks, Clarke.”

Clarke spots Professor Cartwig coming closer, having finished telling Murphy off, so she fires a quick _“Substantivus!”_ into the air and watches as a solid white block thumps down onto her desk. Cartwig pauses at their table, eyeing the hunk of solidified mist approvingly.

“Not bad, Griffin,” she says, and one corner of her lips quirks upward. The teacher taps the block with her wand and it evaporates into mist again. “But don’t think I didn’t see you and Miss Blake chatting up a storm before I got here.”

Clarke smiles sheepishly up at their teacher, but Callie just shakes her head.

“Don’t let it happen again, Clarke. I’d hate to tell your mum that you’re slacking off in my class.”

As Professor Cartwig walks away, Octavia wrinkles her nose and gestures towards the space where the solid mist once was.

“How did you manage to do that so easily? It was your first attempt!”

“What can I say? I’m a natural,” Clarke says with a teasing wink.

“You arrogant bastard,” Octavia scoffs and knocks their shoulders. “Teach me.”

Clarke begins the task of correcting Octavia’s erratic wand movements and her incorrectly pronounced incantation. She grins when Octavia eventually gets the hang of it, bringing a small shard of solidified mist down from the swirling cloud above. As Octavia determinedly continues to practice, Clarke’s eyes wander over the other students, curious to see how they are progressing.

She’s distracted by a folded piece of paper that comes zooming past her arm, landing on the table beside her. She watches as Bellamy lowers his wand and hesitantly picks it up. He holds onto the paper for a good minute, seemingly deciding what to do, before he opens the note.

Clarke only catches a glimpse of the writing – a few vulgar words and half of Octavia’s name – before the paper suddenly shrivels up in a burst of flames and vanishes from sight. A quick glance behind her confirms what she already knows.

Bellamy grits his teeth, but otherwise he doesn’t do a thing. Clarke feels a pang of sympathy for him, and a violent urge to hex Cage Wallace.

***

At lunch, Clarke makes a point to sit right beside Bellamy.

“I saw Cage’s note,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Yeah. Cage was just being an asshole, as usual.”

Clarke taps at the _Head Girl_ badge on her chest. “I’d offer to dock points from Slytherin for you, but… y’know.”

“I don’t think taking points from my own house would be helpful, no,” Bellamy says wryly. “But thanks anyway, Clarke.”

“Anytime, Bell.”

Clarke watches Bellamy watch his sister – sometimes protectively, but always lovingly – and she smiles at the affection that is clear in his eyes.

Bellamy was the epitome of ‘overprotective older brother’. Ever since their parents died, he’d shouldered the responsibility without question and became the person who shielded Octavia from the harshness of the world. The year and a half age difference meant little to him, and he defended Octavia with the fierceness of a father figure. He was willing to go to great lengths to protect his sister; he’d even purposely failed his final exams in his last year at Hogwarts, just so he could repeat the grade and remain in the castle to watch over her until she could graduate as well.

“As much as I trust you and Raven to look after her when I’m gone… I need to be here too,” Bellamy had explained, when he’d confessed to Clarke what he’d done. “You have to understand – she’s all I have left in the world.”

Of course, the Blakes still fought like siblings sometimes – as evidenced by the fact that they were currently fighting over the last pork chop at the table – but Clarke would always remember what Bellamy had sacrificed to take care of his little sister.

“Sup, nerds?”

Raven drops down onto the bench on Clarke’s other side, startling her from her thoughts.

“I haven’t fixed your watch yet,” she says to Clarke, half a potato chip already dangling from her mouth. “But I should have it working soon.”

Clarke nods absentmindedly. “Take your time, Ray. I know you have other projects that you’re busy with.”

“I do,” Raven agrees, because there’s always something that she’s tinkering with. “But I know how much that watch means to you, so it’s more important than anything else.”

Clarke gives her an appreciative smile. Raven just bumps their shoulders.

“Pass me the chicken wings, would you?”

***

Clarke is in the Astronomy Tower classroom after patrol that night, leaning against the windowsill and staring out into the dark sky. She spares Lexa a glance when the ghost floats through the door and comes to a stop beside her. They gaze at the stars in companionable silence.

“You’re not wearing your watch,” Lexa notes quietly.

Clarke’s eyes flicker down to her empty wrist. “Yeah, it had a bit of a meltdown this morn- wait, how did you know that I wear a watch?”

Lexa blinks. Her face remains blank. Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“I pay attention to detail,” Lexa says eventually. “You’ve worn it every time we’ve spoken. I assumed it was a permanent accessory.”

Clarke accepts the answer, though she has a feeling that it’s not the whole truth.

“Why are you here tonight?” she asks the ghost.

“To mourn the living.”

Clarke gives her a puzzled look. “Don’t you mean ‘mourn the dead’?”

Lexa shrugs. “Sometimes they’re one and the same.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Take me, for instance,” Lexa says, glancing down at her own body. “I am alive – not in the sense that I am _living_ , but I am animated. However, I am also dead.”

“Did you not want to be a ghost?” Clarke asks, furrowing her brows.

“I never expected to become one, no,” Lexa admits as she stares out into the night. “I knew that ghosts were the spirits of those who feared death, but I was never afraid of dying.”

“So why are you still here?” Clarke asks. When she realises how rude she probably sounded, she hurriedly adds, “Not that I want you to go, or anything.”

A shadow of a smile passes over Lexa’s face at Clarke’s bumbling words.

“Sometimes spirits remain because they have an extraordinarily strong connection to someone or something in this realm.”

Clarke nods thoughtfully. “So you have a strong connection to something here?”

“I did,” Lexa says simply.

Clarke raises an eyebrow at her use of past tense. “Did?”

“Or do,” Lexa concedes with a slight nod. “I’m not sure anymore. In any case, I’m still here.”

Clarke breathes a laugh at her confusing words. Lexa allows her a small smile. After a short stretch of silence, Clarke speaks up again.

“Does this feel the same for you as it does for me?”

“What do you mean?” Lexa asks, head tilted in confusion.

“This,” Clarke says, waving a hand between their bodies. “This is only the second conversation we’ve had in so many days, and I feel ridiculously comfortable around you - like I’ve known you for a lot longer than a couple of weeks.”

Lexa’s expression remains impassive. Clarke’s face falls.

“Sorry,” Clarke says hastily. Her cheeks heat up, and she hopes that they aren’t too noticeable in the pale moonlight. “I just thought-”

“It does,” Lexa says suddenly.

“Does what?” Clarke asks confusedly. She wants to fan at her cheeks because they’re still burning hot.

“It does feel the same for me,” Lexa clarifies in a soft voice. “This… _us_. You’re not alone, Clarke.”

Clarke swears her heart starts beating so fast that it’s positively thrumming in her chest. She bites her lip to try and contain the smile that’s threatening to form, but she fails miserably. Lexa merely quirks one side of her mouth upwards.

After a stretch of contented silence, Clarke admits, “I had a dream about you the other night.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow, and she rushes to explain.

“Not a _dirty_ dream. Just like, a normal dream. A very normal dream. Sort of.”

If Clarke didn’t know any better, she would say that Lexa looks amused.

“What happened in this dream of yours, Clarke?”

“You were… alive,” Clarke sees Lexa’s curiosity pique at that, so she continues on, “I was home for the holidays, trying to practice for an Apparition test that was coming up. I tried Apparating from the basement to my bedroom, but somehow I ended up in the wrong room. _Your_ room, actually.”

Clarke doesn’t expect Lexa’s face to harden as she recounts her dream. She watches the ghost swallow heavily despite the fact that she doesn’t need to breathe at all, and steel her features.

“This was a mistake,” Lexa says eventually. Detachedly. “I thought…”

When Lexa doesn’t fill in the blank, Clarke asks, “You thought _what_ , Lexa?”

“I should go,” Lexa says, ignoring Clarke’s question. “I would appreciate if you kept the details of our interactions to yourself.”

With that, Lexa stands and floats hurriedly out of the room, vanishing into the night. Clarke stares after her, wondering how things had turned so quickly.

***

Clarke can only stand Lexa ignoring her for two measly days. Her friends have all noticed her surly mood – and consequently given her a wide berth – so she decides to finally do something about it. She ends up pacing the empty classroom of the Astronomy Tower after dinner that night, calling out the ghost’s name.

“Lexa? Lexa!”

As Clarke is preparing to shout the ghost’s name even louder, Lexa passes through the wall and regards her wearily.

“You called?” she asks dryly.

Clarke rolls her eyes and launches straight into her diatribe. “You can’t start talking to me and then suddenly _stop_. It’s not fair. Especially after I told you how I feel about… _us_ , or whatever. You said you felt the same way.”

“Life isn’t fair, Clarke,” Lexa says coolly. “You can’t always get what you want.”

“But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need,” Clarke finishes automatically.

She doesn’t expect Lexa to understand the reference to one of her favourite Muggle songs, so when Lexa _does_ , she is understandably confused.

“Reciting Muggle lyrics. Cute,” Lexa says wryly. “That won’t make me change my mind, Clarke.”

“What the hell _is_ that?” Clarke exclaims. Her frustration from the past two days is definitely making itself known, as she emphatically waves her hands at Lexa’s form.

“Be more specific, Clarke,” Lexa says exasperatedly. “You can’t expect a straightforward answer if you only talk in riddles.”

“You understood the reference to that Muggle song,” Clarke clarifies. “And the other night when I was sitting on the windowsill of this room, you _knew_ the quote from that Muggle philosopher.”

“Perhaps I’m just well versed in Muggle culture,” Lexa replies evenly.

“I don’t buy that excuse,” Clarke says, shaking her head. “Not many witches and wizards study Muggle rock music or obscure Muggle philosophers.”

Clarke steps towards Lexa, forcing her to back up until she’s almost touching the wall of the classroom. Clarke pauses there for a moment, contemplating her next move. She watches Lexa watching her, and nudges forward the slightest bit. Lexa is half an inch from having to pass through the wall in order to escape Clarke’s path, but she stands resolutely in place, choosing to crane her neck away from Clarke instead of disappearing through the bricks.

Due to the proximity, Lexa has no choice but to lock eyes with Clarke.

“Who are you, Lexa Woods?”

Clarke watches Lexa swallow heavily. She waits.

“I’m-”

The door swings open, hitting the wall with a crash. Clarke startles, and Lexa uses the distraction to her advantage.

“-sorry, Clarke,” Lexa whispers into her ear. Clarke swears she feels the warmth of her breath before she steps backwards through the wall.

“Wait, no-”

Clarke reaches out to grab at the ghost, but her hands only clench around air. Bellamy, Raven and Wells stand in the open doorway. Clarke glares at them.

“What the hell, guys?”

“We warned you to stay away from her,” Bellamy says. He has his hands up to show that he means no harm, but Clarke still wants to hex him.

“It’s for your own good,” Raven adds gently.

“How did you even know I was up here?” Clarke asks angrily. She balls her fists to keep her emotions at bay and stop herself from reaching for her wand.

Two pairs of eyes look towards Wells, and that’s enough of an answer for her.

“I trusted you not to tell anyone that I came up here,” she snaps. Wells’ eyes are shamelessly pleading, and Clarke scowls. “I can’t believe you would betray me like that.”

“Clarke-”

She ignores him and storms out of the room, down the corridor and down the staircase. So consumed in her irritation – she was _so_ close to getting an answer from Lexa – she almost runs into Octavia, who is standing with her arms crossed at the bottom of the steps. Clarke moves to step around her, but Octavia grabs her arm before she can go anywhere.

“You shouldn’t be angry at us. We’re all just looking out for you.”

Clarke grits her teeth to try and quell her ire, but there are so many things she doesn’t understand right now, and no one seems to want to throw her a bone. She pulls her arm from Octavia’s grip.

“ _Why_ are you looking out for me?” she questions, brows drawn together in annoyance. “What are you keeping from me? I clearly don’t have all of the information here. And what does it have to do with Lexa?”

Octavia can’t seem to meet her eyes. “We can’t give you the explanation you want, but there’s someone who can.”

Clarke doesn’t hesitate to ask, “Who is it?”

“Your mother.”

***

Clarke rounds the corner to the hospital wing with determined steps. She slows when she hears raised voices floating from the matron’s office, and quietly makes her way towards them. She pauses outside the door and listens.

“-should take her back to see Healer Tsing at Mount Weather Medical. If what people are saying is true, and she’s been spending time with _her_ again, then she’s clearly in need of another treatment-”

“I can’t. I _won’t_ ,” Abby says exasperatedly. There’s an undertone of tiredness in her voice, Clarke can tell. “It was hard enough seeing her go through it the first time; I won’t subject her to another round of treatment.”

“But it’s what’s best for her-”

“That’s enough, Jackson,” Abby says firmly. “I’ll decide what’s best for her. She’s _my_ daughter, after all.”

It’s not a conversation meant for her ears, but Clarke decides that she’s had enough.

“Talking about me, mother?” she asks, pushing the door open.

Jackson, the trainee Healer, stares at her in shock. Abby just closes her eyes and sighs.

“You weren’t meant to hear that, Clarke,” she says pointedly.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But what _is_ best for me, exactly?”

Abby tries to brush her off. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Clarke scoffs. “First my friends, and now you? Why won’t anyone just _answer_ me?”

Abby heaves another sigh. She tells Jackson to go, and waits for him to close the door before she speaks again.

“Your friends are just trying to help. Don’t take your anger out on them,” Abby says. “If there’s anyone to blame for keeping things from you, it’s me. So if you want to get angry, get angry at me.”

Clarke frowns. “That’s not what I asked-”

“It’s late,” Abby cuts her off. “I know I’m your mother, but you don’t get any special privileges because of that. You really shouldn’t be here unless you’re in need of medical attention.”

Abby completely disregards Clarke’s indignant retorts, and ushers her from the office without another word. Jackson looks up from his seat by one of the hospital beds when they enter the Infirmary.

“Jackson, could you please escort Clarke back to Gryffindor Tower? The last thing we need is for her to get in trouble for wandering the school after hours – even the Head Girl isn’t allowed that much freedom.”

***

Jackson delivers her to Gryffindor Tower, as ordered. He doesn’t leave until the Fat Lady’s portrait swings closed behind her. Clarke stands alone in the common room and waits until she’s sure that the trainee Healer will have returned to the hospital wing.

Then she heads back out through the portrait hole.

The castle is surprisingly easy to navigate at night. She doesn’t return to the Astronomy Tower – she doesn’t want to be caught off guard by her so-called friends again – so she strays from her usual course and simply wanders the seventh floor until she finds a disused classroom.

“Lexa?” she calls into the darkness. “Are you there?”

Clarke feels a rush of wind behind her, and the familiar ache in her chest returns. Before she can turn around, she hears Lexa whisper over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. But we shouldn’t do this.”

There’s another gust of air and when Clarke finally turns, the room is empty. Her chest suddenly feels hollow.

She cries herself to sleep that night.


	3. sleepless nights you creep inside of me (paint your shadows on the breath that we share)

_They’re standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, and students have to veer sharply to avoid hitting them, but they don’t pay attention to anyone but each other. Lexa smooths out her plain black Hogwarts robes as Clarke looks her up and down._

_“You’re actually here.”_

_Lexa nods. “I am indeed.”_

_“I never got to introduce myself that night, in your bedroom,” Clarke says with a sheepish smile. “My name is Clarke Griffin.”_

_Lexa holds out her hand. Clarke feels like they’ve surpassed the level of shaking hands, seeing as they had already held hands for like ten minutes when they first met, but she obliges her anyway. Lexa’s hand is as soft and warm as she remembers._

_“Lexa Woods.”_

_There’s a moment of silence between them, but Clarke breaks it before it can become too awkward._

_“Has someone shown you around the school yet?”_

_Lexa’s cool expression falters slightly. “I’ve been shown the Headmaster’s office, the female bathroom on the third floor near the Headmaster’s office, and the Great Hall.”_

_Clarke shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Come on, I’ll give you a proper tour - castle and grounds included. I might even introduce you to the Giant Squid. He’s a fan of French toast, by the way, if you ever want to make a quick friend.”_

_“You have a Giant Squid in the castle?” Lexa asks bewilderedly._

_“Oh, no,” Clarke laughs. “If you look out any window on the south side of the castle, you’ll see the Great Lake – that’s where he lives.”_

_“Does your Headmaster approve of such creatures residing in the grounds?” Lexa questions curiously. She narrows her eyes at a student who knocks into her shoulder and sends her stumbling forward._

_Clarke pulls out her wand and points at the offending student’s feet. She gives it a wave, and he trips over his suddenly untied shoelaces. Lexa arches a brow, as if asking whether that was really appropriate, and Clarke shrugs casually._

_“I don’t think Professor Jaha has much control over the creatures that live around here, to be honest,” she says in response to Lexa’s previous question. “Especially not in the Forbidden Forest, which surrounds most of the castle.”_

_Lexa’s other eyebrow raises as well. “The Forbidden Forest? That’s quite a strange name for a forest.”_

_“It’s an_ appropriate _name,” Clarke says wisely. “There are creatures hidden in there that I would hate to come across – Acromantulas, werewolves, Blood-Sucking Bugbears…”_

_“And yet the forest remains open and easily accessible by staff and students alike,” Lexa comments dryly._

_“Oh, and don’t forget that we hold classes in there too,” Clarke informs her. “Care of Magical Creatures, to be exact.”_

_Lexa breathes out a laugh. “Hogwarts really is a fascinating school, isn’t it?”_

_“And I haven’t even started the tour yet,” Clarke says cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go.”_

_\---_

_They finish the tour back where they started – in the Entrance Hall – and Clarke is smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. Lexa is funny in a snarky way, and she makes Clarke feel at ease with her mere presence. She hasn’t felt so comfortable with a person so quickly before; the feeling is almost surreal._

_Lexa smiles softly at her as they come to a stop at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. She looks like she wants to say something, so Clarke waits patiently._

_“I understand that we haven’t known each other for long,” Lexa begins hesitantly. “But I have a favour to ask of you.”_

_Clarke shoots her an encouraging smile. “Sure, what is it?”_

_“Professor Jaha has requested that I join him after supper in his study – he says that I’m to be sorted into a house?” Lexa says, toying with the edge of her robe. Clarke thinks that she looks uncharacteristically shy. “Would you like to join me? It would be nice to have a familiar face in the room, and I’m sure the Headmaster won’t mind.”_

_“Of course,” Clarke says warmly. “In the meantime, you can sit with me during dinner – I’ll introduce you to my friends!”_

_To Clarke’s dismay, Lexa wrinkles her nose at the idea. “After the stories you’ve told me about Raven Reyes, I’m not entirely sure I want to meet her.”_

_“Raven’s harmless, really,” Clarke assures her, leading her towards the Great Hall._

_“You told me she blew up her dormitory room in her first year,” Lexa reminds her pointedly._

_“Well, yeah, but she was still getting used to her magic then,” Clarke reasons, striding through the double oak doors. “Her explosions are much more controlled now.”_

_“Oh, that makes me feel a lot better,” Lexa says sarcastically. “Thanks.”_

_Clarke nudges her shoulder. She takes a seat at the Gryffindor table, and Lexa follows suit. “She’s a nice girl. Honest.”_

_“You promise?” Lexa asks cautiously._

_Clarke holds out her pinkie finger. “I promise.”_

_Lexa stares at her outstretched finger blankly. “Is this a Hogwarts thing?”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry,” Clarke hastily draws her finger back and clenches her hand into a fist. “That was a, uh… it was a Muggle thing. Sorry.”_

_“You’re Muggle-born?” Lexa asks quietly._

_Clarke takes a second to look into her eyes. They glow greenish-gold in the candlelight, but they don’t give anything away. Lexa waits expectantly._

_“I’m a half-blood – my dad’s a Muggle, my mum’s a witch,” Clarke says eventually. She never thought to question whether Lexa was the elitist type; she really hopes she isn’t, but she still hardens her gaze warily. “Is that a problem?”_

_Lexa stares at her for beat. Then she says, “No. I don’t have a problem with that.”_

_Clarke nods approvingly. “Do you promise?”_

_Lexa hesitates. Then she holds up her fist with her pinkie outstretched. Clarke locks their fingers together and smiles softly._

_\---_

_They make their way up the Grand Staircase after dinner, and Lexa tells Clarke what she thinks of her friends._

_(“They’re not the_ worst _? Wow, Lexa. You sound so impressed.”_

_“Octavia asked a lot of questions.”_

_“She’s an inquisitive girl.”_

_“Bellamy was glaring at me the whole time.”_

_“He was just being an overprotective older brother.”_

_“Wells asked me what my intentions are.”_

_“He was just being thorough.”_

_“Raven wanted to know if Beauxbatons was small enough to blow up with a single, well-aimed explosive spell.”_

_“She’s… okay, fine. They’re all kind of weird. But they’re still my friends.”_

_“Give it time, Clarke. I’m sure I’ll warm up to them eventually.”_

_“Just don’t give up on them, okay? I promise they’re worth getting to know.”_

_“I’m more than willing to give them a chance, Clarke. Besides, they can’t do anything worse than Apparating into my bedroom, can they?”_

_“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”_

_“Not a chance.”)_

_As they round the top of the stairs to the third floor, they prepare to turn off the landing into the corridor that will lead them to the Headmaster’s office, but a voice halts Lexa in her tracks. Clarke comes to a slow stop beside her._

_“Lexa!”_

_Lexa turns and looks at the boy who is standing halfway up the next staircase, calling out to her._

_“… Lincoln?”_

_It’s Lincoln Woods, a burly Gryffindor boy who is in the same year level as Clarke and has been the object of Octavia’s affections for a while now. Lincoln walks down the steps and stands before Lexa. They reach out and grip each other’s forearms in a weird handshake of sorts, and Clarke’s gaze flickers between the two of them confusedly. They share small smiles as they release their grip on one another._

_“How many years has it been?” Lincoln asks._

_“Five, I believe. Although it feels like a lifetime,” Lexa says softly. “You’re taller than me now.”_

_Lincoln chuckles. “I’m taller than almost everyone now, Lex.”_

_“I don’t doubt that at all,” Lexa says with a warm smile. “Are things okay with the family?”_

_Lincoln’s expression darkens for a moment, but he shakes it off. “Things are… as well as can be expected, I guess. You know how it is.”_

_Lexa nods solemnly. “Unfortunately, yes.”_

_“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Clarke cuts in curiously. “But how do you two know each other, exactly?”_

_“Sorry, Clarke – we didn’t mean to exclude you,” Lincoln says with an apologetic smile. “Lexa and I are cousins, but we haven’t seen each other in a long time.”_

_“Oh. Wow.”_

_Clarke gives an impressed nod. With Lincoln’s tanned, muscled physique, and Lexa’s comparatively pale skin and lean body, she would never have guessed it. Lexa chuckles, obviously taking note of how Clarke has just openly studied their physical appearance. She blushes at her lack of tact._

_“What are you doing at Hogwarts?” Lincoln asks Lexa, eyeing her school robes. “Did you get tired of the wood nymphs serenading you in the Dining Hall at Beauxbatons?”_

_“I didn’t have much of a choice – you know my parents,” Lexa says wryly. “Mother and Father decided that my former school was no longer…_ suitable _, for their needs.”_

_Clarke can’t help but feel like she’s intruding on a part of the conversation she shouldn’t be hearing, so she looks away pointedly. Thankfully, Lexa seems to pick up on her discomfort._

_“Anyway, Lincoln, we have to get going – I’ve a meeting with the Headmaster,” Lexa says, glancing at Clarke. “I’ll see you around?”_

_“Of course,” Lincoln nods. “It was good talking to you, Lexa. You too, Clarke.”_

_“Bye, Lincoln.”_

_Lincoln heads back up the staircase, and Clarke and Lexa continue down the corridor towards the Headmaster’s office._

_“So… you and Lincoln are cousins?”_

_“We are,” Lexa nods._

_Clarke hums. “Do you think you could maybe, put in a good word for Octavia?”_

_Lexa raises an eyebrow._

_“Don’t tell her I told you, but Octavia’s had a crush on him for like, a year now,” Clarke says with a sly grin. “If there’s something I can do to help her out… well. I’m willing to take a chance. Her mooning over him is getting quite pathetic, to be honest.”_

_The corners of Lexa’s lips quirk upwards, and she offers Clarke a single nod. “I’ll talk to Lincoln when I can.”_

_“Thanks, Lexa.”_

_\---_

_Lexa’s meeting with the Headmaster was interesting, to say the least. She’d sat with the Sorting Hat on her head for well over five minutes – the only hatstall Clarke had ever witnessed – before ultimately being declared a Slytherin._

_Clarke watches Lexa fix her new green and silver tie in the bathroom mirror._

_“You’re in Slytherin,” she says needlessly._

_Lexa’s fingers move nimbly as they adjust her tie. “So it seems.”_

_“I kind of hoped that you would be sorted into Gryffindor,” Clarke admits, moving so that she’s standing behind the other girl._

_Lexa pauses, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Why is that?”_

_“So I could spend more time getting to know you,” Clarke answers._

_Lexa uses the reflection to glance from her own tie to Clarke’s, scarlet and gold peeking through the top of her fastened robes. “Need I remind you that you’re friends with Raven, Bellamy and Wells? None of them are in Gryffindor. We don’t need to be in the same house to continue getting to know each other, Clarke.”_

_Clarke smiles at the notion. Lexa turns around when her tie is finally to her liking._

_“The colour reminds me of what you were wearing when we first met,” Clarke comments, reaching out to brush her hand along it. “It matches your eyes.”_

_“I’m glad that my new house complements my aesthetic,” Lexa says lightly. She hesitates before continuing, “I brought it with me. The dressing gown I was wearing that night. Perhaps you’ll have the opportunity to see it again.”_

_Clarke blinks dumbly. “Was that a proposition?”_

_“It is what it is, Clarke,” Lexa says evenly, though Clarke can see a blush starting to emerge from the top of her collared shirt._

_The girl may not have answered her question, but her noticeable reaction makes Clarke feel like she’d lost a Knut only to find a Galleon._

_\---_

_“How’s your first week been?” Clarke asks after she spots Lexa sitting at the Slytherin table and makes her way over. “Good?”_

_Lexa nods, swallowing her mouthful of food. “It was enlightening, to say the least. Did you know that the castle and grounds are protected by an Anti-Disapparition Jinx? I found myself lost in one of the school’s many corridors and tried to Apparate to my next class, but it unfortunately did not work. Professor Cartwig was not pleased by my tardiness.”_

_Clarke laughs. “I did know that, actually. Only the Headmaster has the power to override the Anti-Disapparition Jinx. It’s a safety precaution that Jaha insists on, especially after the Battle of Hogwarts in ’98.”_

_“I can presume that I won’t receive any surprise visits in the middle of the night then?” Lexa asks, her tone taking a teasing edge. “Since you can’t accidentally Apparate into my dormitory, of course.”_

_Clarke rolls her eyes at Lexa’s obvious amusement. “Oh, shut-”_

_“Are we sitting at the Slytherin table now?” Octavia interrupts their banter, dropping down opposite them. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she starts piling her plate with food._

_Raven walks in through the doors then, scans the tables and walks over once she spots them. “Slytherin table tonight, huh?”_

_Like Octavia, she doesn’t wait for a response before sitting down on Clarke’s other side. Lexa maintains her amused smile. Clarke just groans internally._

_Bellamy arrives seconds later, and takes a seat beside his sister. “I see we’ve finally migrated to the better side of the Great Hall. Lexa and I can actually eat with our own house for once. Good choice, girls.”_

_“Nuh,” Raven protests through a mouthful of mashed potato. “’M on’y hee cuh’ eve’y wun ess wuh.” She clarifies once she swallows her food, “I’m only here ‘cause everyone else was.”_

_Bellamy nods disbelievingly, prompting Raven to begin a speech about Slytherin’s dark history. Wells joins the table eventually, after he says he spent forever trying to find them at the Gryffindor table, where they are usually seated. He sits beside Bellamy, grumbling light-heartedly to himself._

_Lexa raises an eyebrow at Clarke once they’re all settled at the table._

_Clarke shrugs sheepishly at her. “Sorry. They’re kind of a package deal.”_

_“Don’t apologise for your friends,” Lexa says with a smile. She glances at the doors, where Lincoln and a girl – tall, with golden brown skin and dirty blonde hair – have just walked through. “Speaking of friends…”_

_She waves at Lincoln and the girl, an obvious request to come join them. Clarke waits for them to approach, and watches as they sit opposite Lexa. Lexa nudges Clarke when they sit, and Clarke realises the seating arrangement has put Lincoln and Octavia next to each other. She grins when Octavia comes to the same realisation with wide eyes._

_“You already know my cousin, Lincoln. This is one of our family friends, Anya Greene,” Lexa says to Clarke. She turns to Anya. “Anya, this is Clarke – the girl I told you about.”_

_“The one who Apparated into your room in the middle of the night, yes,” Anya says coolly. She nods at Clarke, who eyes her silver and green tie. “Lexa speaks highly of you.”_

_Clarke blushes when she realises that her friends have overheard, and are tittering at the new information._

_“And these are Clarke’s friends,” Lexa adds, leaving the group to make their own introductions._

_Clarke smiles at Lexa when she settles back into her seat and everyone breaks off into their own little conversations – including Octavia and Lincoln, she notes slyly._

_“Nothing like a family dinner to celebrate your first week at Hogwarts,” Clarke says with a teasing lilt. She takes a moment to appreciate the view before her: a mess of old and new – for both Lexa and Clarke – but something that feels comfortable and right._

_“I could get used to this,” Lexa admits, looking around at their mixed group._

_Her overawed tone makes Clarke feel like Lexa has never had something like this – a close circle of friends and family – before. Unthinkingly, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand._

_"Good. Because we’re not going anywhere.”_

_Lexa’s faint smile tugs at Clarke’s heartstrings, and she responds with a light squeeze of her hand._

***

Night after night, she has these confusing dreams about Lexa. Clarke doesn’t know what to think of them. They feel so _real_ , yet her mind is telling her that these events could never possibly have happened. There’s a war raging inside her head – fact versus fiction, dreams versus reality – and her brain feels so full, she’s sure that there isn’t room to swing a Kneazle.

 _Everything and nothing makes sense, all at the same time. It’s so messed up_ , Clarke thinks, waking up in the middle of the night after another one of her dreams. She can’t get back to sleep because her head is still buzzing with flashes and fragments of the short-lived dreams, so she decides to take a walk to clear her mind.

She ends up in the Astronomy Tower classroom, sitting with back against the wall opposite the open window. She still can’t let go of the idea that she and Lexa are tied together somehow, and that everyone – Bellamy, Raven, Octavia, Wells, her mother – knows something about Lexa that she doesn’t. Why else would they warn her to stay away?

 _All things lead back to Lexa_ , she thinks wryly.

Clarke ultimately grows tired of sitting in the dark alone.

“Lexa?” she tries. “I need you.”

It takes a few minutes, but Lexa eventually floats through the door. She pauses and takes in Clarke’s position, then daintily crosses her legs and hovers beside the girl on the floor.

“Clarke-” she begins.

Clarke can’t help herself from steamrolling right over the ghost’s words. “Everybody is lying to me – even you,” she says accusatorily.

Lexa appears to bite her tongue. “Technically, we’re just omitting the truth.”

Clarke scoffs at her amiable response. “So you’re all lying by omission.”

Lexa inclines her head. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Great,” Clarke says bitterly. She lets out a sigh and resignedly asks a question - one she hopes will get an actual answer, “By the way, how does that work? You coming here when I call. Do you just… pop in and out of existence, or something?”

“It’s like a magical tether,” Lexa explains, ostensibly hesitant. “When you say my name, I feel a pull – right here, in my chest,” she says, drawing a circle around the skin over her heart. “Which is strange in itself, seeing as I no longer possess a beating heart. I can’t explain it, but I feel compelled to be wherever you are.”

“So it’s not just me,” Clarke says slowly, a hopeful expression taking over her previous frown. “There’s something more to you and I, isn’t there?”

Lexa doesn’t answer, much to Clarke’s disappointment.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Clarke.”

“What, by talking to you?” Clarke asks.

Lexa just nods.

Clarke sighs. “How is that _dangerous_ , exactly?”

“It’s dangerous because I can’t stop,” Lexa admits. “Talking to you, that is. I shouldn’t even be _near_ you. But I can’t help it.”

“You’re drawn to me,” Clarke says.

Lexa nods. “And you to me.”

“And I can’t ask why,” Clarke mutters bitterly.

“You can’t ask why,” Lexa agrees. She softens her tone. “I know how hard it is for you to simply accept things, Clarke. But believe me when I say that nothing good will come from trying to unravel this mystery.”

It takes a good minute of silence, but then Clarke finally speaks.

“Okay.”

Lexa looks sceptical, and Clarke assumes that the ghost was expecting more resistance. Clarke can understand why – Lexa seems to recognise the difficulty Clarke has with _not_ questioning everything she is told.

“I trust you, Lexa,” she says sincerely.

“You don’t even know me,” Lexa counters, seemingly still confused by her easy acceptance.

“No, I don’t,” Clarke says, albeit reluctantly. “But I feel like I do, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Lexa looks torn for a moment, with her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. But her features eventually smooth out and she nods.

For the first time that week, Clarke doesn’t fall asleep with dried tear tracks on her cheeks.


	4. the things i dream that i can do (i'll open up the moon for you)

Clarke is reluctant to forgive her friends for whatever secret they’re keeping, but Lexa convinces her to acknowledge their intentions; ultimately, they are just trying to protect her. Lexa assures her that there must be a good reason for it – and a good reason why no one is telling her the whole truth – and she encourages her to lay her anger to rest.

So Clarke apologises to her friends one by one, and they apologise in return – mainly for being evasive and secretive. Wells, in particular, apologises for telling the others of her frequent excursions to the Astronomy Tower classroom.

“I know that was your secret place, but I was just-”

“Trying to protect me,” Clarke finishes, though she can’t manage to keep the slight edge of annoyance out of her voice. Wells looks chastised, and Clarke pushes herself to soften her tone. “I still don’t understand _why_ you need to protect me, but I get that you only have my best interests at heart. So I forgive you.”

“Are you sure?” Wells still looks contrite, so Clarke forces a small smile.

“Yes,” she says lightly. “Now stop overthinking it, or I’m going to rescind my forgiveness.”

Wells returns her smile, and offers a reconciliatory hug. Clarke embraces him, but it lacks the warmth that it usually has; though she’s forgiven her friends, she doesn’t quite trust them yet.

And until she can trust them, Clarke resolves to keep her communication with Lexa a secret.

***

They’re in the corner of the kitchens, watching the house-elves prepare lunch for the student body. Clarke eats her way through a specially requested peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich while Lexa watches with a grimace.

“That’s disgusting,” the ghost comments.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Clarke says through a mouthful of bread. Then she realises that she just told an intangible being to try and eat when she knew full well that Lexa couldn’t. “Um, wait-”

Lexa waves her off. “It’s fine. And just so you know, I actually _have_ tried that particular… concoction.”

Clarke eyes her dubiously. Lexa shrugs lazily.

“I knew someone who liked the same thing. They told me it was a Muggle delicacy and asked me to try it. As I said before: it’s disgusting.”

Clarke laughs, but comes to an abrupt halt when she chokes on her un-chewed sandwich crust. She hears Lexa gasp and call her name, and then she feels a hundred thousand tiny ice-cold daggers swipe through her midsection. After a hacking cough and a sharp inhale, she tells Lexa that she’s okay.

“Did you try to give me the Heimlich?” Clarke asks when she’s caught her breath, wondering at the chill that had passed through her body.

Lexa wrinkles her nose. “Not at first.”

At Clarke’s questioning look, she continues sheepishly, “I tried using the _anapneo_ spell.”

“You forgot that you couldn’t do magic?” Clarke asks, caught somewhere between amused and concerned.

“Oh, don’t water it down. I forgot that I was dead,” Lexa replies wryly. Clarke still gives her a sad smile, which she doesn’t acknowledge. “You’re sure you’re okay though?”

“I’m fine,” Clarke assures her.

“Good,” Lexa gives a satisfied nod. “I’d rather be the only dead one in this kitchen, thank you very much.”

This time, Clarke pauses her eating before she laughs.

“Can we go back to the other thing though?” she asks. “You knew someone that made you try a peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich?”

Lexa arches an eyebrow, seemingly unsure about the line of questioning.

“I just wanted to say that you had a great taste in friends,” Clarke clarifies with a small smile.

Clarke watches Lexa’s eyes move from her honey-dripping sandwich, to a smear of peanut butter that she’s pretty sure is on her chin, and then up to her eyes.

“Have,” she says eventually. “I _have_ a great taste in friends.”

Clarke grins and then takes another bite of her sandwich.

***

It’s hard to keep track of Lexa in the light, Clarke discovers.

Her transparency is much more obvious here, bathed in the late afternoon sun at the top of the West Tower. They’re standing on the battlements, watching the birds fly in and out of the Owlery adjacent to them.

“Can you leave Hogwarts?” Clarke asks the ghost, squinting to see her form in the sunlight. “Or are you stuck here?”

“I am not limited to the castle and its grounds,” Lexa replies.

“Have you ever been outside Hogwarts?” Clarke asks curiously.

“Yes,” Lexa says curtly. “Only once though, when I was brought back as a ghost.”

Clarke can tell by Lexa’s tone that this particular line of discussion is over. She sighs, and turns the conversation in a different direction.

“This is my final year at Hogwarts,” she says, casting her gaze over the castle grounds. “Raven is pretty much guaranteed a position on the Committee of Experimental Charms at the Ministry after graduation. Octavia is set on becoming an Auror, and we all know that Bellamy is going to follow wherever she goes. But I still don’t know what _I_ want to do.”

“Do you have a favourite school subject? A subject you’re particularly good at, perhaps?” Lexa asks sensibly.

Clarke huffs a laugh. “I don’t mean to brag, but I _am_ top of all my classes. And I don’t favour any of them; they’re all equally boring to me.”

Lexa shakes her head amusedly. “What about your interests outside of school?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any,” Clarke admits. She then jokes, “Maybe I’ll just stay here – become a Professor, so that I never have to think about life outside of the castle. I might have to deal with my mother on a regular basis, but hey… at least I’ll have you too.”

Lexa chuckles. “Whatever pleases you, Clarke.”

The ghost then shoots her a small smile, and Clarke considers – for a fraction of a second – whether remaining at Hogwarts is actually a worthwhile option.

***

There’s a different ache in her heart nowadays, whenever she’s with Lexa. Clarke doesn’t really know what to think about it – or its implications – so she tries to tamp down the feeling.

(It doesn’t work. She should have known that repression never does.)

***

Clarke is walking through the corridor on the way to Charms when Finn intercepts her. He asks if she has a minute to talk, but even when she shakes her head, he tugs her to the side of the busy corridor.

“I’m on the way to class,” Clarke says exasperatedly. “Can this wait until lunch or something?”

“Actually, Princess – no, it can’t,” Finn says, smiling that half-smile of his.

“What is it?” Clarke asks when the boy continues to stare at her, and doesn’t seem at all inclined to say his piece.

“Sorry,” Finn says with a sheepish laugh. “I just got caught up in how beautiful you are.”

Clarke almost rolls her eyes, wondering how his lacklustre lines could have ever swayed her. She raises an expectant eyebrow. Though Finn seems confused by her obvious disinterest, he continues on.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” he asks hopefully. “We could have tea at Madam Puddifoot’s, then maybe take a trip to Honeydukes? We could even-”

Before Finn can finish his spiel, a silvery-grey body passes through the wall beside them and moves straight through him – only to pass back through the wall seconds later. He stands in muted shock, frozen in place. Clarke winces at his misfortune.

Halfway through questioning why Lexa would do such a thing, Clarke realises that the ghost has just afforded her an easy out, and she hurriedly excuses herself.

“Sorry,” she says to Finn with a sympathetic smile. “I have to go to class.”

“Wait, Clarke-” Finn tries, but Clarke has already put half a dozen people between them.

***

That night in the Astronomy Tower classroom, Clarke calls for Lexa. After an entire day’s worth of deliberation, she thinks she knows exactly why the ghost did what she did that morning. If she’s right…

Well. At least she wouldn’t be alone in this mess.

“What did Finn do to you?” Clarke asks when Lexa glides through the door. “You cut our conversation short earlier today.”

Lexa blinks. She shrugs noncommittally. “I find him deeply irritating.”

“And that’s all?” Clarke prods, because she can’t help it. “Really?”

Lexa’s cheeks go white, and Clarke takes that to mean that she’s blushing.

“Yes,” Lexa mumbles, though it is without conviction. “That’s all.”

Clarke knows then and there that they are both unbelievably screwed. Even so, she can’t help but smile knowing that maybe her feelings aren’t one-sided.

***

_Clarke and Lexa are under the shade of the beech tree on the banks of the Great Lake. Clarke is lying on her stomach, catching up on homework; Lexa is leaning against the trunk of the tree, reading a novel._

_“Why did you leave Beauxbatons?” Clarke asks Lexa curiously, eyes still trained on her parchment._

_They’d never had the opportunity to discuss Lexa’s transfer in detail; Clarke only knew what she’d overheard during Lincoln and Lexa’s conversation on her first day at Hogwarts. In her peripheral vision, Clarke sees Lexa lower her book._

_“My parents requested the transfer to Hogwarts, you know that,” she says._

_“I do,” Clarke replies, writing out one last sentence before turning her attention to her friend. “What I meant was,_ why _did they request the transfer?”_

_A muscle twitches in Lexa’s jaw. “Clarke, can we not talk about this?”_

_Clarke stares at Lexa’s stiffened posture, and the way her hands clench around her book. She sighs._

_“Please don’t be angry,” Clarke says softly. “I just want to know more about you, Lex.”_

_“And you can,” Lexa insists, looking into her eyes. “Just not about that. I’m not ready to discuss it yet.”_

_Clarke exhales heavily. “Will you ever tell me?”_

_Lexa glances back down at her book. “Eventually,” she answers._

_“When will that be?” Clarke presses._

_Lexa casts her gaze out onto the rippling surface of the Great Lake. “It takes as long as it takes, Clarke.”_

_\---_

_Lexa sits primly on Clarke’s bed, back straight with her hands folded over one another, as if the sleeve of her robe isn’t torn and her upper arm isn’t bleeding profusely from the gash that slices neatly through her skin._

_“Is this the only wound?” Clarke asks, trying to maintain a professional air despite the unease that is swirling low in her stomach._

_Lexa blinks once. Twice. “Yes.”_

_Clarke has grown adept at being able to tell when Lexa is lying – and that was an obvious lie. She sighs before climbing onto the bed and drawing the curtains shut with her wand._

_“You can’t fool me, Lexa. Where else have you been hurt?”_

_Lexa hesitates. Then she reluctantly lifts up her right arm – the one with the gash – and shows a tear in her robes, somewhere near the bottom of her ribcage. The edges of the material are stained with blood. Clarke realises then that the wound on her torso is continuous with the one on her arm, and the direction of the gash – moving diagonally down Lexa’s body – is consistent with a slashing curse._

_In other words, Lexa was attacked by someone using Dark Magic._

_Clarke quickly instructs Lexa to take off her mangled robe and her undershirt. The girl struggles to remove her clothes without jostling her injured arm. Clarke doesn’t offer any aid, though she desperately wants to; she would never admit it, but Clarke knows that Lexa hates being seen as weak, and she’s sure that her pride has already taken a hit because she’s asked for Clarke’s help tonight._

_Lexa eventually manages to take everything off without too much hassle, though she grimaces the entire time. Clarke almost cries at the amount of blood that continues to seep from the open wounds now that they’re uncovered, but she doesn’t want Lexa to know how worried she actually is._

_“If Cage hadn’t targeted my wand arm, I could have healed this myself,” Lexa says evenly, as though the significant blood loss hasn’t caused her face to go ashen. “I’m sorry I had to bring you into this.”_

_Clarke feels an undercurrent of anger surge through her at the thought of Cage Wallace attacking Lexa. She forces herself to focus on the matter at hand though, and holds the tip of her wand to the edge of the gash on Lexa’s arm._

“Vulnera Sanentur,” _she murmurs, drawing her wand across the length of the wound and watching as the bleeding slows to a stop._

_Clarke says the healing spell twice more – to clear the dried blood and knit the skin back together – before repeating the process for the wound on Lexa’s torso. She Summons a bottle of Dittany from her bag (courtesy of her mother) once the spellwork is complete._

_“Why did Cage attack you?” she asks as she applies Dittany to the newly stitched skin._

_“I attacked him first,” Lexa says coolly._

_“Lexa!” Clarke pauses to stare at the girl, aghast. “What the hell?”_

_“He spoke ill of you,” Lexa says stiffly. “I merely retaliated with the Langlock jinx, to teach him a lesson. He was the one who countered with Dark Magic – nonverbally, of course.”_

_Clarke feels her heart clench at the knowledge that Lexa was only trying to defend her. She sighs before continuing to tend to Lexa’s wounds._

_“You can’t jinx everyone that insults me,” she says eventually._

_Lexa frowns. “Yes I can.”_

_Clarke knows a lost cause when she sees one, so she reluctantly drops the subject._

_“You lost a lot of blood tonight,” she says when she finishes applying the Dittany. “You should really go to the hospital wing to take a Blood-Replenishing Potion.”_

_“Your mother already dislikes me,” Lexa says, touching the faint pink lines on her arm and torso. Clarke tried her best to minimise scarring, but she couldn’t do much due to the extent of the wounds and her limited Healing knowledge. “I won’t give her another reason to think negatively of me.”_

_Clarke takes hold of Lexa’s slashed robes and undershirt, and makes quick work of repairing them._

_“You care what my mother thinks of you?”_

_Lexa’s brows draw together. “She is important to you, Clarke. Of course I care.”_

_And despite everything that’s happened that night – Lexa coming to her in a daze, pale and dripping blood – she goes to bed with the strangest feeling in her stomach, like she’s taken a mouthful of Elixir to Induce Euphoria and the effects are only just starting to show._

_\---_

_Clarke hurries down the dormitory stairs and into the Gryffindor common room, where Lexa is waiting for her. Octavia and Raven have already left for Hogsmeade, promising to meet up with them later at The Three Broomsticks. When Lexa turns from where she is staring through the window that looks out onto the school grounds, Clarke rolls her eyes fondly at her appearance._

_“Do you own any_ casual _clothing, Lex?” she asks, eyeing Lexa’s expensive looking navy robes._

_“These are my casual robes,” Lexa replies confusedly, glancing down at them._

_Clarke examines the robes for a moment before laughing. “The inside is lined with cashmere. Those are_ not _casual clothes. Do you own a sweater and trousers or something?” she asks, gesturing at her own jeans and sweater combination._

_Lexa shakes her head. “My parents would never allow me to dress in Muggle clothing.”_

_“So you wear robes all the time?” Clarke asks incredulously._

_“Yes,” Lexa answers simply._

_Clarke hides her astonishment at the revelation. She makes a quick decision, reaching out to grab Lexa’s wrist. “Okay, that’s it – I’m lending you my clothes for today. I’m not letting you go on your first Hogsmeade trip wearing robes.”_

_Clarke leads Lexa up the stairs and into her dormitory, where she rummages through her trunk and presents the girl with her smallest pair of jeans – Lexa is slighter than her – and her favourite sky blue sweater._

_“Here. Try these.”_

_Lexa takes the clothes wearily. Clarke is about to step outside so she can change, but the girl has other ideas – she merely unbuttons her robes and lays them on Clarke’s bed before inspecting the other clothing curiously._

_Clarke watches the scene unfold with wide eyes. She’d seen Lexa without her shirt on before, but she was also bleeding heavily at the time, so appreciating the view hadn’t exactly been her first priority. Her gaze inadvertently trails down the flat plane of Lexa’s stomach before she realises that she’s openly ogling her friend’s body._

_By the time she averts her gaze, Lexa has already stepped into the jeans and is tugging the sweater on. Clarke staunchly keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling. She is so focused on not looking, she barely notices when Lexa calls her name._

_“Clarke?”_

_Clarke glances down quickly to make sure Lexa is dressed. She lets out a sigh of relief when she finds the other girl fully clothed._

_“Clarke.”_

_“Hm?” Clarke asks distractedly, admiring the way her sweater hangs loosely on Lexa’s smaller frame._

_Lexa looks at her amusedly. “I asked if you were ready to head to Hogsmeade now. I’m sure Octavia and Raven are wondering where we are.”_

_Clarke blushes slightly. “Right. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”_

_\---_

_It’s early on a Sunday morning. Lexa and Clarke are sitting by the gently smouldering fireplace in the kitchens while the house elves prepare breakfast. Zoran, one of the kitchen elves, comes by with a tray and two teacups._

_“Your tea, Miss Lexa and Miss Clarke,” he squeaks._

_Lexa thanks him as she takes the tray, and pours them both a cup. Clarke waves at Zoran as he takes his leave._

_“Oh, before I forget – look what I borrowed from the library,” she says, rifling through her bag and pulling out a book. The pristine spine indicates that it has rarely (if ever) been used._

_Lexa reads the cover. Then she eyes Clarke sceptically. “_ ’The Art of Reading Tea Leaves’ _?”_

_“I’ve never had a chance to try divination. My mum thinks it’s a waste of time, with her being a Healer and all,” Clarke says, picking up her cup and blowing across the hot drink._

_“Your mother is right,” Lexa says, sipping at her tea. “Divination is hardly a branch of magic.”_

_“Oh, don’t be a wet rag. What’s the harm in trying it?” Clarke asks reasonably, flipping through the pages of the book. “It’s just a bit of fun, Lex.”_

_“If you say so, Clarke.”_

_They drink their tea and make idle conversation. When Clarke drains her cup, she swirls the dregs before turning it over and dumping everything onto her saucer. She then alternates glances between her tea leaves and the book, trying to make sense of the clumps of brown and black._

_Despite her earlier words, Lexa still watches the process curiously._

_Clarke can only make out four distinct – well, mostly distinct – shapes: a parasol, a boat of some sort (a gondola perhaps?), the letter L, a skull._

_“What do your tea leaves say, Clarke?”_

_A new lover, romance, the initial of someone close to you, danger in your path – or so the book says._

_Clarke has never been a believer of divination, but fuck if she doesn’t know_ exactly _what her tea leaves are trying to tell her. She hastily puts her saucer down onto the tray and pours herself another cup of tea. Lexa gives her an inquisitive look._

_“I couldn’t see anything but tea leaves,” Clarke says, hoping that her voice sounds normal._

_Thankfully, Lexa accepts her answer with a chuckle. “Of course you couldn’t. Tea is for drinking, not for fortune telling. I could have told you that.”_

_Clarke glances one last time at her abandoned saucer – whether it’s with weariness or hope, she doesn’t know._

_\---_

_“Have I ever told you that I_ love _that you’re a Prefect?”_

_Clarke sighs, both at Octavia and the soothing warmth that the water offers. “Only every time I let you guys use the Prefect’s bathroom, O.”_

_“Just making sure,” Octavia says chirpily before manoeuvring to float on her back._

_Raven ignores them both in favour of examining the golden taps surrounding the tub. She turns one knob experimentally, watching as the tap releases a single bubble that rises into the air and pops, filling the room with a gentle white mist. Clarke runs a hand through the fog when it settles above the water._

_The three girls are in their swimsuits, having a relaxing girl’s night in the Prefect’s bathroom. The pool-like bathtub is currently half filled with lavender-scented purple water, and the surface is dotted with pink foam that smells faintly like candyfloss – courtesy of Raven’s careful choosing._

_Clarke has asked her friends here for a reason, but she decides it can wait for a few minutes while they all unwind. She gives Octavia some more time to float leisurely in the water, and lets Raven continue investigating the taps._

_“I think I have a crush on Lexa,” she says when she grows bored with the quiet._

_“I knew you had a reason for bringing us here,” Raven says, shooting her a lazy grin from her corner of the tub. “We already knew that, by the way.”_

_“Wait, what?”_

_Octavia snorts at Clarke’s obliviousness. “You’re not exactly subtle, Griffin. I’ve been waiting for you to drop the bomb since Lexa’s first day here.”_

_“Shit,” Clarke mutters under her breath. She frowns. “Do you think she knows?”_

_Raven shrugs. “Probably.”_

_“Pretty sure she likes you back though, so don’t stress,” Octavia adds, pushing off the wall and floating forward until she hits the other side of the tub._

_“Yeah, Griffin, chill out,” Raven says, nodding at Clarke’s suddenly stiff shoulders. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”_

_Clarke’s gaze flickers between her two friends. She nods. “Right. Of course.”_

_“Great,” Octavia says brightly. She swims over to join Clarke. “Now that we’ve finally addressed the troll in the room, we can talk about how to get you and Lexa together!”_

_\---_

_“You seem tense.”_

_Clarke glances at Lexa as they walk along the banks of the Great Lake. She’s tossed the last of her food to the Giant Squid, and now her focus is solely on Clarke._

_Clarke attempts a smile, but even she knows that it is strained._

_Lexa stares concernedly at her. “What’s wrong?”_

_Clarke doesn’t answer – not straight away, at least. She knows exactly why she’s been acting so weird lately, and it has everything to with the girl that she’s walking with right now._

_She has a crush on Lexa. And no matter how much she tries to deny it, the way her heart races around the other girl will always prove her true feelings._

_Octavia’s voice rings loudly in her mind –_ “Just tell her!” _– so she decides to take the plunge, then and there, because how else is she supposed to move past this?_

_“I like you, Lexa,” Clarke says without preamble._

_Lexa’s reply is immediate, and somewhat confused. “I like you too, Clarke.”_

_“No, Lex,” Clarke sighs. As hard as she tries, she can’t meet Lexa’s eyes – not right now. “I_ like _you. As in, I want to take you on romantic dates and kiss you and fall asleep with you.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Lexa says, and Clarke wants to bang her head against a wall, because what was so hard to understand about a simple confession of feelings?_

_Lexa continues, much to Clarke’s frustration. “Why do you seem so troubled when we appear to want the same thing?”_

_Clarke has already opened her mouth to argue when she realises what Lexa is implying. Her eyes shoot to Lexa’s face, because she honestly can’t believe what she’d heard._

_“Wait, what?”_

_It’s a thing of wonder, Clarke thinks, when Lexa melts into a shy smile._

_“You want to take me on romantic dates and kiss me and fall asleep with me,” Lexa says simply. “I wish to do the same with you, Clarke.”_

_“So you… like me?” Clarke questions, still somewhat dubious. Perhaps she’s having a fever dream._

_“Yes,” Lexa answers, furrowing her brows. “Is that so hard to believe?”_

_“I…” Clarke is almost speechless at this point. “To be honest? Yeah.”_

_Lexa chuckles lightly. “I think I’ve had feelings for you since the moment you Apparated into my bedroom. I’d never been so thankful for a pair of shorts before.”_

_Clarke playfully knocks her shoulder against Lexa’s. “I could say the same about that silk robe of yours. Seriously though, I’m never going to live that Apparition accident down, am I?”_

_Lexa doesn’t answer; she just smiles teasingly and reaches down to tangle her fingers with Clarke’s._

_\---_

_They’re lying together in Clarke’s bed that night, ankles crossed over one another and their hands toying idly between them. No one else is in the dorm, but the curtains are still drawn._

_“I want to take you on a date soon,” Clarke says softly._

_Lexa squeezes her fingers in agreement. “Okay.”_

_Clarke can hear the ‘but’, so she waits patiently for Lexa to continue._

_“I have to tell you something first,” Lexa says. She’s hesitant, Clarke can tell._

_“So tell me.”_

_Lexa nods against Clarke’s pillow. “It’s about why I transferred to Hogwarts.”_

_Clarke says nothing for a while. Then she asks, “You’re ready to tell me?”_

_“Yes,” Lexa says resolutely. Then her voice quietens as she admits, “Because it might change the way you think about me. Whatever happens though, I want you to know that I’ve never been as_ real _with anyone as I have been with you.”_

_Clarke sits up at the seriousness of her tone. “Lexa, what-”_

_Lexa shakes her head as she follows suit. “I’m being selfish here, but I need you to promise not to hate me after I tell you.”_

_“What? I could never hate-” Clarke tries again, but Lexa cuts her off._

_“Clarke, please.”_

_It’s Lexa’s pleading gaze that does it. Clarke holds out her fist with her pinkie outstretched. Lexa manages a small smile and locks their fingers together. When their hands fall back onto the bed, Clarke speaks._

_“Tell me.”_

_And so Lexa explains that her parents are Death Eater revivalists, determined to restore the assembly of pureblood supremacists and purify the Wizarding race. They had been operating out of France since Lexa was a child, but their efforts were proving to be unsuccessful; the French pureblood community had little interest in disturbing the peace following Voldemort’s defeat in the Second Wizarding War. They then relocated to England, where they believed people would be more receptive to the revival of the Death Eaters. Lexa had been given no choice but to transfer from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts, because her parents refused to leave her in anyone else’s care, out of fear that their racist ideals would not be properly impressed upon her._

_Clarke is still trying to take in all of the new information by the time Lexa finishes her story. Unfortunately, Lexa takes that as a sign that Clarke is having second thoughts about her._

_“You have to believe that I’m nothing like my parents,” Lexa implores, reaching out to hold Clarke’s hands between her own. “I’m not deluded enough to think that purebloods are any better than Muggle-borns. Blood status means nothing to me. You know that.”_

_Clarke finally brings herself into the present, and she manoeuvres so that she’s the one holding Lexa’s hands instead._

_“You’re not your family, Lexa,” she says gently. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”_

_“So you don’t hate me?” Lexa asks quietly. Worriedly._

_Clarke shakes her head. Lexa just stares at her, green eyes shimmering with apprehension._

_“You’re the girl who always speaks in proper sentences and thinks that cashmere-lined robes count as casual wear. You’re the girl who likes to take walks past the Great Lake just so she can say hello to the Giant Squid. You’re the girl who hates peanut butter, banana and honey sandwiches – which are the best, by the way – but your favourite sweets are Jelly Slugs and Peppermint Toads, literally the worst sweets money can buy. You’re the girl who would take a slashing curse to the arm and torso just to defend my honour,” Clarke says softly. “Your family doesn’t define you; you do. And I think I know who you really are, Lexa Woods.”_

_Lexa is crying openly at that point, and Clarke gingerly cradles her face between her hands, wiping away the tears. Her heart aches for this girl who has only ever been taught how to hate, but whose spirit is so good – so_ pure _– that she rebels against the very fabric that she is made of. She’s in a never-ending war between her head and her heart – between what she has been taught and what she knows is right – and up until now, she’s been fighting all her battles alone._

_Clarke is determined to fix that._

_“What do you say to that date?” she asks with a gentle smile._

_Lexa returns the smile, though it is a watery one. “Yes. If you’ll still have me.”_

_“Always, Lex.”_

_\---_

_Clarke decides that their first date will be a picnic dinner in the Astronomy Tower. Lexa has requested that they keep their romantic outings hush-hush, because she’s afraid that the news of her relationship with a half-blood girl will make its way to her parents, and she’s not willing to put Clarke in danger. She’s agreed that they can maintain their public friendship though, since no one at Hogwarts seems to recognise her as a Death Eater revivalists’ daughter. Anything more than that is too much of a risk, she says._

_“This is lovely, Clarke.”_

_Clarke watches Lexa smile as she takes in the rearranged Astronomy Tower classroom. The desks have been pushed to the side to make way for a large blanket and a few comfy cushions. A basket is set to the side of the arrangement. Candles float overhead, and everything is placed so that they can look out at the stars through the open window._

_“This is my favourite place in the whole castle,” Clarke says softly, after they both take a seat on the blanket. “Sometimes I come up here to think. Other times I come up here to not think at all.”_

_“Thank you for bringing me here,” Lexa says sincerely._

_Clarke opens the basket of food with a smile. She pulls out two dishes and a gravy boat, then two bottles of Butterbeer, and sets it all down between them._

_“Filet mignon with mushroom sauce,” Clarke informs Lexa. “Courtesy of Zoran and the other elves.”_

_They eat in a comfortable silence. Neither of them feels the urge to talk, content to just sit in one another’s presence. Clarke’s gaze flickers between Lexa and the stars. With the number of times she catches Lexa’s eye, she knows that the other girl is doing the same._

_“Before he died,” Clarke begins, when their plates are cleared and they are each nursing a small custard tart for dessert. “My dad quoted some Muggle philosopher:_ Things are as they are. Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations _.”_

_Lexa spoons some of the tart into her mouth as she waits for an explanation. Clarke smiles at the smear of custard that Lexa gets on her top lip. She reaches out to gently wipe it away – delighting in the way Lexa blushes slightly – before she continues._

_“Every experience, whether good or bad, is ultimately just an experience. What matters is how you react to it; whether you let it change you for the worse or for the better. You were raised by bad people and told to think bad things, but you didn’t – and still don’t – believe in any of it. Because you’re a good person,” Clarke says honestly. “And I want you to remember that.”_

_“When I discovered that Slytherin has quite a reputation for producing Dark Wizards,” Lexa begins, staring out at the stars. “I wondered whether the Sorting Hat ultimately put me there because deep down I am evil, despite how hard I try to be good.”_

_“Being in Slytherin doesn’t make you evil,” Clarke says with a frown. “The choices that people make, they’re the things that make them evil.”_

_“I know that now,” Lexa says with a faint smile. She takes another bite of her custard tart before speaking. “The Sorting Hat actually gave me a choice, that night in the Headmaster’s office. It said I had the mind of a Slytherin but the heart of a Gryffindor, and it asked me to choose: head or heart.”_

_Clarke realises that that must have been why Lexa was a hatstall._

_Lexa continues, “I chose head over heart, because I knew it would bring about the least problems in the long run.”_

_“Lexa…” Clarke trails off, unsure what to say._

_“I almost put a stop to this. Us,” Lexa admits, despite the interruption. “Earlier that night, in the Great Hall.”_

_“When I said I was a half-blood?” Clarke recalls, a frown marring her features._

_Lexa nods._

_“And why didn’t you? Put a stop to this, I mean,” Clarke questions._

_Lexa is silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating her answer._

_“Because of you,” she says eventually, looking into Clarke’s eyes._

_Clarke raises her eyebrows in surprise._

_“Don’t look so shocked. You are more enchanting than you realise, Clarke. In the short time that I’d known you, you somehow made me want to be an even better person. So I gave you a chance,” Lexa smiles softly. “It turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made.”_

_Clarke can’t help herself. She pushes the half finished custard tart from Lexa’s hands and pulls her forward by her robes._

_When they kiss, it feels like the first time Clarke discovered she could use magic all over again; like she’s found a piece of herself that she didn’t know she was missing. Her heart slows – she knows because she can hear it pulsing in her ears and thumping in her chest, like it’s growing in size and trying to escape her body – and it’s as if time is standing still just for them. It’s wonderful and exciting, calming and peaceful, all of these conflicting feelings swirling in her stomach at the same time. But despite the chaos that has erupted within her, everything feels whole and good and_ right _._

_They eventually separate for air, and Clarke laughs when Lexa presses their foreheads together with a lazy smile. When Lexa’s smile falters, Clarke pulls back and cups her face her hands. The question goes unspoken._

_“We can’t tell anyone about us,” Lexa says dejectedly. “If word gets back to my parents… I can’t imagine what they will do. I won’t put you in danger, Clarke. But if that’s too much secrecy for you, I’d understand if you don’t want to-”_

_Clarke presses a chaste kiss to Lexa’s lips to cut her off. “I can handle a secret or two if it means I get to be with you like this.”_

_Lexa takes Clarke’s hands in hers and gives her a beseeching look. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into by being with me. It won’t always be easy – whether it be because of my family… or maybe even me.”_

_“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” Clarke says gently. “But you will always be worthwhile to me, Lexa.”_

***

Clarke wakes from her dream with a gasp, the ache in her chest even stronger than before.


	5. you take more than just my sanity (you take my reason not to care)

It’s been a few weeks since the first bottle of Masper Moonshine was created, but Jasper and Monty finally brew enough alcohol for a small party between their friends. When they invite her, Clarke doesn’t hesitate to say yes.

(She just needs one night without one of her dreams. They only give her hope when she knows she can’t stand to have any hope at all – Lexa is _dead_ , and she can’t come back from that, no matter how much Clarke wishes she could.)

“I didn’t think this room could be used anymore, not after the Fiendfyre fiasco during the Battle of Hogwarts,” Clarke says, looking around the Room of Requirement in awe.

There are a few cosy couches dotted around the edges, but the space is mostly open – no doubt giving people room to walk freely and mingle with each other while they drink, which is exactly what’s happening. There’s a floor-to-ceiling tapestry on the back wall with ‘Masper Moonshine’ printed on it, which is the only decoration in the room. The chandelier hanging from the roof casts a warm glow across the entire space. All in all, it looks homey and welcoming.

“The room has its limitations,” Bellamy admits with a shrug. He’d been the one to conjure it when Monty and Jasper announced the party. “The walls are always a little charred, no matter what you ask the room to do. And it’s sensitive with fires – it doesn’t let you conjure your own, so you have to make sure the room is equipped with lit lanterns or something, or you’ll have to use a wand-lighting charm the entire time.”

“Still,” Clarke says with an impressed nod. “You did a good job.”

Bellamy smiles in thanks. He lifts up the bottle that he’d been given as soon as they entered the room. “Shall we?”

Clarke still has her reservations about Monty and Jasper’s moonshine, but she wants to let loose for just one night, so she nods.

“Ladies first,” Bellamy says, unscrewing the lid and handing the bottle to Clarke.

She takes a sharp pull from the bottle, and there is no mistaking that Jasper and Monty have made firewhisky.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Clarke coughs out. She hurriedly passes the bottle back to Bellamy, who chuckles at her spluttering.

Raven pops up from behind her with a sly grin. “You called?”

“Don’t be gross, Raven,” Clarke says, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I just meant the firewhisky – it really fucking burns on the way down.”

“That’s half the fun, Clarke!” Jasper cuts in, wrapping an arm around Bellamy’s shoulders and rubbing his knuckles good-naturedly against the boy’s curls. He’d been busy making the rounds with his other guests, Clarke saw earlier.

Bellamy shakes him off with a roll of his eyes. “What’s the other half, Jasper?”

Jasper just grins shrewdly. “You’ll find out in, oh… fifteen minutes.”

Bellamy and Clarke exchange weary expressions. Monty takes that moment to slide in and assure them that the product has been well tested. Clarke relaxes at his words, but Bellamy seemingly still has doubts.

“The only bad thing to happen to Jasper and I were raging hangovers,” Monty promises him, and he finally relents.

He takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it blindly to the next person. Raven takes the bottle with a smirk, and Jasper claps him on the back. Clarke watches Bellamy’s face melt into a languid smile merely seconds later, and she prepares herself for a long night.

***

Everyone is absolutely plastered. Clarke hasn’t been able to drink as much as she wanted to - she feels obligated to keep an eye on her friends instead, since she seems to be the most sober person at the party.

(She isn’t _completely_ sober, of course; the firewhisky has settled warmly in the pit of her stomach, and her body is humming with an energy she can’t quite shake. But her head isn’t lolling and she’s thinking quite clearly, so she’s pretty sure she’s doing better than everybody else.)

When she notices that many of the partygoers seem to be falling asleep where they stand, swaying or leaning against the walls, she searches the crowd for Bellamy’s curly head of hair. She finds him talking to a small group of intoxicated, giggly girls and barely refrains from rolling her eyes.

“Bell!”

“Yeah?” he says, abandoning his company without saying so much as goodbye.

“People are struggling to stay awake, and Jasper is already knocked out,” Clarke says exasperatedly, and motions over to the corner where their host is curled into a ball, fast asleep. “Did you guys think of an escape plan for when the party died down?”

Bellamy looks at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Clarke realises then that he’s still pretty drunk, and she sighs.

“How do we get everyone back to their dorms?” she asks bluntly.

Bellamy seems to understand her words now that there are less of them, and he points at the far wall. “Hidden corridor behind the tapestry. Should lead everyone except the Gryffindors to the right floor; you guys can leave through the main door, since we’re already on the seventh floor.”

 _Thank Merlin_ , Clarke thinks. She was not in the mood to shepherd forty-odd people through the castle without getting caught.

“Go find Monty and Raven,” she instructs Bellamy. “I don’t think Jasper can walk on his own, so he’ll probably need help getting back to Ravenclaw tower.”

Bellamy grimaces at first, and then he gives a reluctant nod. He wanders off in search of their friends, and Clarke looks around at the rest of the room. She pulls her wand from her robes with a tired huff, points it at her throat and mutters a quick _Sonorus_ charm.

“Everyone listen up!” she calls out, voice amplified by the spell. “Party’s over! Everyone who isn’t a Gryffindor, make your way to the tapestry at the back of the room…”

***

When Clarke is the only one left in the Room of Requirement, she picks up the single remaining bottle of moonshine. It’s half empty, but she decides she’ll keep it for herself – a reward for the night’s work, which was never her responsibility in the first place.

She leaves the room and closes the door with a sigh, watching the entrance melt into the wall. Now that she’s alone with her thoughts, she thinks about the one thing she _didn’t_ want to think about tonight.

After a moment’s deliberation, she walks past the corridor leading to Gryffindor tower and heads straight for the Grand Staircase. It’s a bad idea, she knows this already. But she’s a slave to the alcohol that’s still buzzing in her veins, and the heavy feeling in her chest that just won’t go away.

***

Clarke enters the Astronomy Tower classroom to find that Lexa is already there.

“Hey, Lex,” she greets, coming to stand beside the ghost in front of the window.

Lexa inclines her head cordially. “Hello, Clarke.”

They stand by the open window together. Clarke sets the bottle of Masper Moonshine on the ledge and stares out into the darkness. The stars are particularly bright tonight, she notes.

“You’ve been busy this evening,” Lexa comments, looking down at the bottle of moonshine.

Clarke raises her eyebrow at the half full bottle and then turns to Lexa. “I didn’t drink that much, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ve had a few mouthfuls, though.”

Lexa doesn’t seem to believe her. Clarke doesn’t really care.

As firewhisky is wont to do, she is brimming with brashness and courage – a testament to the strength of Jasper and Monty’s brew, considering it had been an hour or so since she’d last had a sip. It’s becoming harder for her to keep in mind that her dreams are just dreams, because she can so clearly _remember_ the feeling of Lexa’s lips against hers, warm and wonderful and wanting. It’s driving her insane – all these fantasies and thoughts and _wishes_ that don’t seem to reconcile with her reality.

So she decides that it’s up to her to make them fit.

“I want to kiss you,” Clarke declares boldly.

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“You’re intoxicating,” Clarke counters.

“Clarke-”

“Lexa,” Clarke fires back.

Lexa looks at her incredulously. “Seriously, Clarke. You know you can’t-”

Clarke ignores her and leans forward with her eyes closed. She doesn’t realise her mistake until she’s fallen straight through Lexa’s body, and the icy coldness numbs her to the core.

“-kiss me,” Lexa finishes, watching Clarke straighten back up forlornly.

The blast of cold sobers her up completely, and suddenly Clarke cannot believe her own stupidity.

“I’m sorry,” she apologises quietly, looking down at the ground between them. “I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I _forgot_.”

“That I’m dead?” Lexa asks drolly. Clarke lifts her head back up at the wry tone, and the ghost softens somewhat. “Because I _am_ dead, Clarke. You need to remember that.”

Firewhisky couldn’t help Clarke escape this truth. Lexa is dead, and no amount of wishful thinking can change that.

***

Clarke avoids Lexa for a few days, both embarrassed and angry with herself. How could she have _forgotten_ that Lexa was dead?

(She knows the alcohol was partly to blame, but it doesn’t make her feel like any less of an idiot. In fact, she feels stupider for allowing the drink to actually get to her head.)

She’s in the library by herself, completing her homework and occasionally wincing when she remembers – in excruciating detail – the exact moment she fell through Lexa’s body. She vaguely wonders if she could leave the castle, maybe even the country, undetected. Sure, she would miss her friends (and possibly her mother) but how else does one recover from such a spectacular slip-up?

Clarke sighs and returns her attention to her Charms homework. Professor Cartwig will be expecting nothing less than an Outstanding-level essay from her top student. The incident with Lexa has already been affecting her focus in class; Callie will be sure to question her if she hands in a sub-par homework assignment.

 _The purpose of a substantive charm is to solidify matter._ Clarke writes. _It is most effective on matter that is magical in nature-_

She pauses there, quill in hand. Then she re-reads her work.

It takes her all of ten seconds to pack her things and go.

***

Clarke doesn’t head to the Astronomy Tower. She needs somewhere different, somewhere more private, to talk to Lexa. So she heads to the seventh floor corridor and stops before the stretch of wall opposite Barnaby the Barmy’s tapestry.

She drags a hand over the blank wall, remembering what Bellamy told her about the room. She doesn’t want much from the room, not really – just four walls and a door to give them a quiet space to talk.

 _Actually,_ Clarke thinks, as she begins to pace before the hidden entrance. _Maybe I’ll add a little something else, just in case things go better than expected…_

When the door materialises and she pushes it open, she finds that the Room of Requirement has conjured everything she needs, concealed behind a heavy curtain that divides the space in two. She calls Lexa’s name, and waits for the ghost to appear in the empty front half of the room.

Lexa must think her a madman, when she passes through the door. Clarke cannot help her broad smile, and the ghost gives her a questioning look.

“Are you done sulking?” Lexa asks with one eyebrow arched.

Clarke completely ignores the question. She steps right up to Lexa and tries to cup her cheek in her hand. As expected, her arm passes right through the ghost and she immediately pulls it back, wincing at the cold sting.

Lexa closes her eyes and sighs. “Clarke, I thought we’d established that you can’t touch me.”

Clarke takes no notice of her words, in favour of pulling out her wand. Lexa eyes it wearily.

“Sorry,” Clarke mutters, not sounding apologetic at all. “I just had to try one more time, for experiment’s sake. I still can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier though…”

She raises her wand, and Lexa floats back a few inches.

“Clarke, what are you-”

Clarke ignores her. She points her wand at the ghost and says, _“Substantivus!”_

The effect of the spell is immediate. Lexa hits the floor with a thud. Her knees had buckled beneath her weight the moment her feet touched the ground, probably unused to having any mass at all, Clarke thinks.

She offers Lexa a hand to help her back up, but the ghost is too engrossed in the feeling of her own body to notice. Eventually, Lexa rises to stand before Clarke, both feet firmly on the floor, no longer hovering in place.

Lexa is still mostly transparent, she notes. But the outline of her form has hardened, Clarke can see the difference clearly; she doesn’t quite shimmer in the light, not like she used to. Her limbs used to float gently through the air, but now her body moves more stiltedly, as though it actually bears weight.

Clarke takes a hesitant step forward, with an open hand outstretched. Lexa watches her approach intently, but doesn’t make a move to stop her.

When Clarke presses her hand to Lexa’s chest, over the space where her heart is, she doesn’t feel a pulse. Lexa is cold beneath her fingers, with no heartbeat at all – inexplicably still dead.

But Clarke can actually _touch_ her, and that’s what matters most right now.

“I… but- what… _how_ -”

Clarke’s smile grows wide at Lexa’s uncharacteristic stammer.

“Send your thanks to Professor Cartwig,” she says, eyes moving down to trace Lexa’s solid form appreciatively.

Lexa breathes an incredulous laugh. “Clarke, do you realise-”

Clarke cuts her off with a firm voice. “Lexa, if you don’t kiss me in the next three seconds, I swear-”

There’s something like wonder in Lexa’s eyes. That’s all Clarke has a chance to see before Lexa surges forward, and thoughts of anything but the feel of Lexa’s lips – Lexa’s _lips_ ; solid and soft and sincere – fly straight out the window.

Clarke walks Lexa backwards, still joined at the mouth – because that’s a thing they can _do_ now – and she pushes through the curtain. She backs Lexa up until her knees hit the bed – a last minute addition Clarke is _very_ thankful for right now – and the ghost falls onto the covers with a whoosh.

Lexa breaks from their kiss with a joyful laugh. She takes a moment to run her hands reverently over the rumpled bed sheets. Clarke simply hovers over her, watching the girl with a soft smile. Lexa’s focus eventually returns to Clarke, her eyes wide and wondrous.

Clarke feels as though Lexa’s gaze is penetrating, searching for something within her own eyes. She wonders what she’s looking for, and when Lexa’s expression dims somewhat, Clarke thinks she has her answer.

Nonetheless, the ghost smiles faintly. Lexa then reaches out to her with a tentativeness and tenderness that sends a pang through Clarke’s heart. Clarke gently takes her hand and holds it up to her cheek.

“I can feel you,” Lexa whispers in awe, dragging her thumb across Clarke’s skin.

Clarke revels in the feather light touches that dance across her body as Lexa reacquaints herself with the ability to feel and her newfound corporeal form. They don’t do anything more than kiss, but Clarke has never felt more content.

***

_“Wow, you really did bring the robe with you.”_

_Lexa reclines on her bed with her fingers interlocked behind her head, wearing nothing but the silky emerald robe from the night they first met. Clarke can’t help but lick her suddenly dry lips._

_“Of course,” Lexa says with a slight frown. “Why would I lie?”_

_Clarke shakes her head with a laugh. “I wasn’t accusing you, Lex. But if it sounded that way, I’ll gladly apologise.”_

_She advances on the green-eyed girl with a sly wink. Lexa watches with wide eyes as Clarke crawls up over her body and hovers with only inches between their lips, waiting._

_She doesn’t have to stay there long. Lexa reacts quickly, leaning up and pushing their mouths together in a heated kiss. Clarke feels Lexa’s tongue swipe at the seam of her lips and then suddenly Lexa is everywhere, warm hands grasping at the skin beneath her clothes and a thigh pressed hotly between her legs._

_“Clarke,” Lexa murmurs between kisses. Clarke merely hums in acknowledgement. “How will you apologise if your lips never leave mine?”_

_“Oh, don’t be dense,” Clarke chuckles against her mouth. “This_ is _the apology.”_

_She feels Lexa smile into the kiss and say, “In that case, apologise away.”_

_\---_

_Soon enough, it comes time for summer vacation, and that means going home for the holidays. Clarke is sitting on her bed at home, reading Lexa’s most recent letter with a smile and thinking up her reply._

_She finds she doesn’t need to pick up a quill to get her message to Lexa, because the girl Apparates right at the foot of her bed._

_“This is a surprising role reversal. What happened to writing each other letters?” Clarke says, waving the open letter in her hand. “I haven’t yet replied to the last one you sent.”_

_Lexa shrugs, but she does so with a close-mouthed smile. “I wanted to see you.”_

_“We’ve been apart for a week,” Clarke says amusedly._

_“A week too long,” Lexa quips, kneeling down onto the bed and slowly crawling her way towards the other girl._

_Clarke folds up the letter and tosses it onto her nightstand with a laugh. “Smooth. I bet you do well with the ladies.”_

_“There’s only one lady I have an interest in, and she’s being particularly obtuse about why I’m in her bedroom,” Lexa says pointedly, coming to a stop with her face only inches in front of Clarke’s._

_“My mum’s downstairs,” Clarke whispers, watching Lexa’s gaze flicker between her eyes and her mouth._

_“She didn’t stay at Hogwarts?” Lexa asks quietly, shooting a glance towards the closed door._

_“Even the staff need holidays,” Clarke points out._

_Lexa accepts the statement with a nod. Without breaking eye contact, she pulls her wand from her robes and points it at the door._

_“Muffliato!”_

_Clarke stops her before she can stow her wand back into her pocket, and Lexa sends her a questioning look. Clarke smirks._

_“What’s the point of putting it back when I’m going to take all your clothes off anyway?”_

***

Octavia questions her irrepressible grin as soon as she sits down for breakfast the next morning, but Clarke doesn’t answer. She asks again not five minutes later, but Clarke is busy scanning the Slytherin table for a familiar glint of silvery-grey. The substantive charm had only kept Lexa solid for a little over an hour last night, so she was back to her ghostly form for now.

It doesn’t even matter that Clarke’s vivid dreams of Lexa aren’t real, not anymore; not now that she’s figured out how to bring her back, even if only for a while at a time.

“The fire’s lit but the cauldron’s empty…” Octavia eventually mutters to Raven, after her questions go unanswered for the third time.

Clarke is so preoccupied, she can’t find it in herself to argue.


	6. (just about the time the shadows call) i undress my mind and dare you to follow

There are a hundred and one things she could do with Lexa now that she is corporeal, but all Clarke wants to do is hold her hand. She’d taken her sense of touch for granted until the ghost came along, and now the most innocent of gestures is all she needs to feel satisfied.

It’s a strange thing, Clarke thinks, to be contented by the mere brush of skin against skin. But she honestly wants nothing more than to twine their fingers together and lay with Lexa for the rest of the night, which is why she’s happy that they are doing exactly that.

They’re in the Room of Requirement again, with a bed and four walls surrounding them. There are a few candles scattered about the space at Lexa’s insistence – _“Overhead lights are too harsh, and wall-bracketed torches are archaic; candles create a warm ambiance and provide an adequate amount of illumination. They are the logical choice, Clarke.”_ – which Clarke made sure to add in their instructions for the room.

It was well worth it, of course, to see Lexa’s tender smile bathed in soft candlelight.

“Why do you stay here, at Hogwarts?” Clarke asks as she toys with Lexa’s cold fingers.

(That’s a thing she’d had to get used to. Lexa is tangible in these moments – almost tenacious beneath her touch – but her skin is perpetually cold, a stinging reminder that although she is _here_ and she is _real_ , she is still _gone_.)

Though Clarke hopes for an answer from Lexa, she doesn’t expect one; the last time she began this particular line of questioning, Lexa shut down almost immediately. It stands to reason that Clarke is pleasantly surprised when the ghost offers an actual response.

“I belong here,” Lexa says simply. She watches as Clarke continues to play with her hand, still as fascinated by the feeling as the other girl.

“You’ve never wanted to venture away from the castle? To explore the wonders of the world?” Clarke asks with a small smile and raised brows.

“This is where my home is now,” Lexa says, her eyes flickering to meet Clarke’s before she looks back to their intertwined fingers. “I have no desire to be anywhere but here.”

Clarke’s cheeks warm at the implication, and she turns her face into the pillow to try and hide her blush. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lexa smiling up at the ceiling.

“What time is it?” Lexa asks eventually, breaking the silence.

Clarke brings her wrist up to check her watch. “Just past eleven.”

“You should get back to your dormitory,” Lexa says, though Clarke can hear a hint of reluctance in her tone. “Octavia will be expecting you soon.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Clarke says, barely holding back a petulant whine. She trails her fingers up and over Lexa’s bare arm; she can’t _see_ the goosebumps, but she can certainly feel them. She smiles to herself. “It’s already late – can’t I stay for a while longer?”

Lexa breathes a laugh. “The last time you said that, you stayed until sunrise. Octavia sent a search party through the castle because you didn’t return to your room by midnight, like you had promised her.”

“She worries too much,” Clarke says dismissively.

She shuffles forward until she can bury her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck, and sighs contentedly. The ghost is stiff at first – Clarke is worried that she has somehow accidentally crossed a line – but she eventually relaxes and reaches out to lay a gentle hand on Clarke’s waist.

“She worries for good reason,” Lexa comments, when they are both comfortable in their new position. “It’s funny – you act as though you wouldn’t do the same thing if the tables were turned.”

“Yeah, well…” Clarke trails off, unable to find a counter argument. Lexa says nothing, but she just knows that the ghost has raised a knowing eyebrow. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything, Clarke,” Lexa says, somewhat teasingly. “Perhaps you should get your ears checked.”

“You’re being an ass,” Clarke groans into Lexa’s neck. The sound vibrates against Lexa’s skin, and she shivers lightly. Clarke grins lazily at the reaction.

“You’re acting childishly,” Lexa says, after she relaxes again.

Clarke sighs and noses further into the crook of Lexa’s neck. “Can you blame me for wanting to spend all my time with you?”

Lexa pauses. Then she says, “At the risk of sounding presumptuous… we have the rest of your life to spend together. I’m sure we can handle one night apart.”

Clarke freezes. She doesn’t realise that she’s holding her breath. Lexa reacts quickly though, taking her hand off Clarke’s waist and shifting backwards to give the other girl space.

When Clarke finally gathers her wits, she finds that they are no longer touching in any capacity. Lexa is staring at her with shiny eyes, full of concern and apprehension, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Clarke feels her pulse pounding in her ears. This beautiful enigma of a girl has just declared that she is _hers_. Lexa is hers to keep _forever_. Clarke wants to cry at the tenderness of it all.

“Do you really mean that?” she eventually asks, when she’s sure that any tears have been kept at bay. “Spending forever with _me_ , I mean.”

“Even if I had a hundred other choices, I would still choose you,” Lexa says softly.

The ghost’s eyes flicker down towards her own body, but Clarke is too busy staring at her lips to notice. She pulls Lexa close, desperate to show her that in every lifetime, in every universe, she would choose her too.

They kiss until Lexa becomes incorporeal again, when Clarke finally takes her leave.

***

It isn’t until Clarke is settled in bed, after having nudged Octavia awake and told her that she was back, that she realises what Lexa said.

_We have the rest of_ your _life to spend together._

Clarke clutches at her aching chest and, for the second time that night, tries not to cry.

***

“ _Reducio!_ ” Octavia exclaims, pointing her wand at the enormous mouse that they had been assigned by Professor Cartwig.

The mouse remains the same size – five times larger than it should be – and pads across the desk to examine the textbooks stacked on the corner. Octavia determinedly repeats the charm. When it refuses to shrink, she stubbornly prods the mouse with the tip of her wand.

Clarke’s gaze wanders idly over her peers after Octavia’s third failed attempt, until she catches a pair of sharp brown eyes across the room. She immediately turns her attention back to her friend.

“She’s doing it again,” Clarke whispers, elbowing Octavia’s side.

Octavia frowns and shoves her back lightly, but doesn’t look away from where she continues to practice the shrinking charm. Ordinarily, Clarke would admire her dedication to staying on task, but she has more a pressing issue at hand.

“Anya is staring at me again,” Clarke repeats. “And please don’t tell me it was a coincidence – she made direct eye contact and didn’t even _try_ to look away.”

“Maybe it _was_ a coincidence,” Octavia says anyway, completely ignoring her words. “Some Slytherins are creepy like that. It’s not exactly out of character for her, anyway.”

Professor Cartwig speaks up from the front of the room, effectively preventing Clarke from whining about how intimidating Anya is. The interruption works in her favour though – Anya stops staring at her to pay attention to their teacher, and doesn’t look back again.

***

Clarke thought she was in the clear, but Anya comes striding over to her desk at the end of class, when everyone else is filtering out the door.

“We need to talk,” Anya says bluntly. Her eyes flicker to Octavia. “Alone.”

Though her voice is monotone, her eyes are anything but. Clarke is honestly a little bit terrified of Anya, with her no-nonsense attitude and her reputation as being the leader of the entire Slytherin house. Clarke looks at Octavia – the most Gryffindor of all Gryffindors, the girl who could probably stare death in the face and live to tell the tale – and she is horrified to find the girl _acquiescing_.

After Octavia packs her bag, she gives Anya one last look – Clarke can’t read her expression – and Anya responds with a stiff nod. Clarke doesn’t understand any part of the silent conversation that just happened, but she watches Octavia depart with Lincoln, who is seemingly waiting for her by the doorway.

They are alone now. Clarke will admit that she’s a little nervous, but she tries not to show it.

“You need to stay away from her,” Anya says without preamble.

“Who, Octavia?” Clarke questions, glancing at the empty doorway where her friend was moments ago. “That’s kind of an impossible ask, seeing as we sleep in the same room.”

She decides she doesn’t like having to look up at Anya, so she stands from her seat. Anya is taller than her even while standing, but Clarke feels empowered nonetheless. The Slytherin girl rolls her eyes at the apparently obvious ploy, and Clarke has the decency to feel sheepish.

“I’m talking about Lexa,” Anya clarifies.

Clarke almost goes slack-jawed, but she catches herself at the last second. She doesn’t know how Anya knows about her and Lexa, but she thinks that feigning ignorance is the best course of action.

“Who’s Lexa?”

Anya lets out a great sigh. Clarke swears she can _feel_ the waves of annoyance radiating from her.

“You and I both know that you’ve never been the stereotypical dumb blonde, Griffin, so don’t play pretend with me. I have better things to do than clean up after you when things inevitably go wrong.”

Clarke is truly perplexed now. What could possibly go wrong? And why would _Anya_ be the one cleaning up after her?

“What are you even talking about?” she asks confusedly.

“ _Lexa_ ,” Anya says exasperatedly. “You need to stop whatever you’re doing with her, because you’re only going to end up making things worse.”

Clarke frowns. “Worse for her, or worse for me?”

Anya heaves another sigh, and Clarke sees a flicker of something in her eyes, something deeper than the irritation that she’s obviously feeling.

“You might not believe it, but I’m not a masochist. I don’t want you getting hurt either. This _thing_ between you and Lexa… it’s only going to destroy you both.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say.

“So you agree then,” Anya says, in a tone that indicates the conversation (if one could call it that) is over. “You’ll put a stop to this thing with Lexa.”

Clarke _still_ doesn’t know what to say. Anya takes her silence as an affirmation though, and turns to head for the door. Before she can get too far, Clarke calls out her name.

When Anya pauses, Clarke asks, “Why do you care?”

“Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t revolve around you,” Anya says, frank as always. “You’re not the only one whose feelings matter.”

It’s a non-answer, but Clarke doesn’t push for more. She has a hunch that Anya would sooner hex her than talk about her feelings anyway. Clarke lets her go without further question, and begins tucking her books into her bag. It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching that she realises she’s not as alone as she thought.

“That looked like a pretty intense conversation,” Professor Cartwig says concernedly. “Are you okay?”

Clarke only nods, because she knows her voice would probably betray her. Callie doesn’t look convinced, but she seems to understand that Clarke doesn’t want to talk about it. The teacher puts on a sympathetic smile and tells Clarke to go to lunch, nudging her out of the classroom.

***

Lexa usually sits at the Slytherin table during mealtimes, watching the doors and waiting for Clarke to enter. They never sit together, of course, but Lexa had admitted that she would take any chance just to be near Clarke.

(Clarke joked about her almost stalker-like behaviour, but deep down she was endeared by Lexa’s devotion.)

Clarke hovers outside the Great Hall and, just like she hopes, Lexa notices her. The ghost rises from her seat and floats directly towards the door, passing through anything and anyone that stands between her and Clarke. Clarke winces at the handful of people at the Ravenclaw table who are unfortunately sitting in Lexa’s path; she knows that the sensation of being doused in ice-cold water is not pleasant.

She walks out of the Entrance Hall and up the Grand Staircase, knowing that Lexa will follow. She stops at the first floor platform and walks down the corridor until she reaches an unused classroom. As expected, the classroom – turned storage room, if the stacks of dusty textbooks are any indication – is empty. She closes the door behind her and waits.

Lexa is barely halfway through the door – literally – when Clarke speaks.

“How does Anya Greene know about us?”

For the first time that Clarke can remember, Lexa looks dumbstruck.

“I thought no one was allowed to know,” Clarke says with furrowed brows. “We’ve never really spoken about it, but that’s definitely the feeling that I get from how _clandestine_ our meetings are.”

“Anya is my friend,” Lexa explains. Her voice is calm, but Clarke knows her well enough to see that she is nervous. “She is the exception.”

Clarke tries to control her emotions, but she can’t help herself from blowing up.

“Why didn’t _I_ know she was the exception? Why does your friend get to know, but my friends don’t?”

Clarke asks the questions even though she _knows_ that her friends wouldn’t react well to the news. She still doesn’t understand _why_ , and everything is compounding to make her confused and angry and _hurt_. Right now, it just makes sense to stomp her feet and express some of her seething indignation _._

She bitterly adds, “I didn’t even know you were friends with anyone around here.”

Lexa looks upset, and that somehow makes Clarke even more annoyed.

“Clarke-” Lexa begins, but Clarke cuts her off.

“You know what?” Clarke says, suddenly unable to meet Lexa’s eyes. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go – class or whatever.”

As she walks back down the corridor, Clarke thinks that that was the first time she has ever willingly left Lexa.

***

_It’s the summer before seventh year, and Clarke and Lexa and their friends are spending a week at the spacious Blake property. Clarke and Lexa offer to set up the makeshift Quidditch pitch in the backyard while everyone else helps Octavia and Bellamy’s adoptive parents clean up after lunch._

_Naturally, once Clarke and Lexa finish setting up the pitch, they try to take advantage of the fact that they are alone for the first time in days._

_Lexa’s hand is in her pants, two fingers curling up inside her. Clarke should feel dirty because they’re out in the open, in the bushes by the field behind the house, having frenzied sex while waiting for their friends to show up. Instead, she’s lost in her own little world, where all she can feel is Lexa’s touch._

_“Right there,” Clarke moans, not even trying to keep her voice down; she’s too far gone for that. “Lex, oh- I’m gonna-”_

_“Remember this for the rest of your life? Because I sure will,” says a voice that is decidedly not Lexa’s._

_Lexa abruptly pulls her hand from Clarke’s pants, and Clarke whips her head around to find the source of the interruption. Raven, Octavia, Bellamy and Wells are standing on the field with their brooms in hand. Raven looks three seconds away from bursting into laughter, while Bellamy and Wells have courteously turned their eyes away. Octavia is giving them a pointed look, as if to say, “Here? Really?”_

_Clarke quickly buttons her pants and smooths down her hair as she walks out of the bushes and onto the pitch. Lexa follows without a word, and Clarke catches her surreptitiously wiping her fingers on the back of her pants before she grabs her broom, which she’d tossed onto the field earlier._

_Raven caught the action too, if her bark of laughter was anything to go by. The tips of Lexa’s ears burn red and, ignoring their audience, Clarke presses a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. She figures there’s no point in hiding now, considering what they’d already seen._

_Lexa relaxes the slightest bit, and Clarke turns to their friends._

_“You can’t tell anyone,” she says earnestly._

_Raven chuckles. “Hate to inform you, Princess, but everyone already knows.”_

_“What do you mean by everyone?” Lexa asks with a frown, speaking up for the first time._

_Raven, perhaps realising the gravity of the situation, answers seriously. “The four of us, plus Jasper and Monty.”_

_“How did you all find out?” Clarke asks with a frown._

_“Prefects bathroom,” Octavia says airily. “I was using the bath, but you must have unlocked the door while I was busy using the toilets in the hallway off the main room. I had to hide in the lavatories for an hour while you… y’know.”_

_“I did wonder why it was locked that one time, and why the bath had already been filled. I assumed you’d come in beforehand,” Lexa says to Clarke, who shakes her head._

_“You should really check that a room is empty before you start using it,” Wells continues with a grimace. “I was in the library annex when you decided to… yeah. You overlooked me because you were too busy taking your clothes off.”_

_By this point, Clarke has her hands over her face to hide her blushing cheeks. Lexa is equally flustered, but Clarke can feel her standing tall, stubbornly refusing to show how mortified she is._

_Bellamy clears his throat. “Raven and I were, uh…”_

_“Oh, gross,” Octavia mutters when she realises what he’s alluding to._

_Bellamy rolls his eyes when his sister starts fake gagging. “I have needs, O. Besides, Raven and I have an understanding-”_

_“Anyway,” Raven says loudly over the top of Bellamy’s voice. “Back to the point. We were in the Armoury when we heard noises coming from down the corridor, in the Trophy Room.”_

_“And we were there, of course,” Lexa finishes. “We thought that no one else would be around at that hour.”_

_“Great minds think alike, obviously,” Raven says with a wink. Octavia continues to gag in the background._

_“What about Jasper and Monty?” Clarke asks, though she’ll admit she’s almost afraid to find out – everyone’s stories have been embarrassing so far, but she knows that it could always get worse._

_Thankfully, it doesn’t. It’s still embarrassing, of course, but no more than anything else._

_“They store their moonshine in the boathouse because no one ever goes there, not after the first years arrive for the start-of-term feast,” Octavia explains._

_“Except us, that one time,” Lexa says, closing her eyes in exasperation. “Because there were people in both our dorm rooms.”_

_Clarke reaches for Lexa’s free hand and squeezes it comfortingly._

_“You guys suck at keeping it in your pants,” Raven comments needlessly._

_Octavia decides to take pity on them, and leads the way to the middle of the pitch with a beat-up Quaffle under her arm. “Come on lovebirds, show us how great a team you really are-”_

_“Wait, you guys haven’t started yet?” Anya asks loudly, as she and Lincoln walk onto the pitch with their brooms in hand, late from having arrived to the Blake property only an hour ago and disappearing after lunch to unpack their bags._

_“We had a, uh… bit of a situation,” Wells answers diplomatically._

_Raven, however, possesses no such tact. “You knew, right?” she asks Anya and Lincoln._

_Anya apparently doesn’t need any context for the question to make sense. She scoffs and looks over at Clarke and Lexa._

_“Who_ didn’t _know?”_

_When Lexa’s jaw drops, Lincoln hurries to pacify his cousin. “What she means is, everybody inside our circle of friends knows, but no one else does. You’re fine, Lexa._ They _don’t know.”_

_For the first time since Clarke met her, Anya looks apologetic. “Lincoln’s right. I meant that all of our_ friends _know. No one else, okay?”_

_Sensing Lexa’s growing unease but not knowing how to comfort her in front of everyone, Clarke is thankful when Octavia speaks up._

_“Are we gonna stand around talking all day, or are we gonna play Quidditch?”_

_Lexa nods appreciatively at Octavia, and Clarke sends her a grateful smile._

_“We haven’t got enough people for two full teams, so we’re only playing with a Quaffle – no Bludgers or a Snitch. It’ll have to be three Chasers a side, plus one Keeper. First team to fifty points wins,” Octavia instructs. “Go on then, split yourselves up – the game isn’t going to play itself!”_

_\---_

_“We need to be more careful,” Lexa says through a yawn, winding her arm around Clarke’s midsection as they lay in bed. “All of our friends know now.”_

_Clarke can tell by the tension in her embrace that Lexa is more anxious than she’s letting on._

_“Are you worried about how they reacted earlier?” Clarke asks, tapping against the hand on her stomach until Lexa spreads her fingers and Clarke can slip her own in between them. “Because they made everyone swap rooms so we could have the biggest one. It’s also the furthest room from the others though, so they might have their own ulterior motives, but I’m sure you can agree that this is a lot nicer than sleeping apart.”_

_Lexa sighs and nudges her nose against the back of Clarke’s head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”_

_“I know,” Clarke says lightly. “I’m just making sure that you understand – they’re still our friends, and they have our backs. They won’t tell anyone.”_

_She can’t see Lexa’s face, but she can imagine that the girl is wearing a dubious expression._

_“I trust them,” Clarke says seriously. “Do you trust me?”_

_“Of course,” Lexa answers without hesitation. With the air of someone who is reading out a shopping list, she adds, “I trust you, you trust them, they’re our friends, they won’t tell anyone.”_

_“Say it with a little more feeling, why don’t you,” Clarke says teasingly._

_Lexa groans and drops her forehead onto the back of Clarke’s neck. Clarke just laughs and rubs her thumb across the back of Lexa’s hand._

_“I’m only joking,” Clarke says softly, when she feels Lexa’s breath evening out against her back. “I know you mean it.”_

_Lexa doesn’t reply. Clarke thinks she may be asleep, but then she feels Lexa move her head and press a sleepy kiss to her shoulder._

_“I trust you,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s skin, before her head drops back to the pillow and she falls asleep for real._

***

Later that night, Clarke wakes up with a sore neck and drool running down the side of her mouth. She wipes it away with a grimace and sits up from where she’s been slumped on the couch. She stretches her back with a groan, drawing Octavia’s attention to her. She offers a small smile from the other end of the couch.

Clarke tries to smile back, but the dream is still lingering at the back of her mind.

She turns to her other friends, who are deeply engrossed in a game of wizard’s chess, and asks, “You guys let me fall asleep?”

Raven shrugs, not taking her eyes off the black and white pieces that sit between her and Bellamy. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says wryly.

She brings her watch up to check the time and sees that it’s already 10:30pm. She gasps.

“Oh my- guys, you’re breaking curfew! And where did Wells go? We’re late for our night patrol!”

“Merlin’s beard… how long were you out?” Bellamy asks with a huff of laughter, eyes still focused on the chessboard. “We’re in the Room of Requirement, remember? No one can find us unless I let them.”

“What about Wells?” Clarke presses. “Why did he leave? Did he forget that we have patrol together tonight?”

“He said he would find a Prefect to cover your shift,” Raven supplies, before barking out another order for her chessmen.

Bellamy grunts, and Raven fist-pumps as her knight drags his broken rook off the board.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Octavia asks quietly, shuffling closer to Clarke on the couch. “You’re not usually this worried about us getting caught out of bed after hours.”

Clarke parts her lips, intending to say something, but she doesn’t know what. _Story of my life lately,_ she thinks sullenly. She closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them again, Octavia is staring at her concernedly.

“It’s nothing,” Clarke says tiredly. “I just had a weird dream.”

“You’re sure that’s all?” Octavia asks.

Clarke nods. It’s kind of true, anyway.

***

Clarke is hesitant to leave her friends, but they assure her that they will be fine.

_“I’ve got tunnels to the Ravenclaw and Slytherin common rooms like last time, and Octavia should be fine walking back to Gryffindor Tower from here as long as she sticks to the shadows.”_

_“We can survive without you for a night, Griffin.”_

_“Go get some rest, Clarke. I’ll come back to our dorm soon.”_

Naturally, Clarke does not go back to their dorm room. She owes someone an apology, and she knows that she won’t be able to sleep properly until she has doled it out.

As always, she finds Lexa in the Astronomy Tower. She’s hovering before the window, almost transparent in the white glow of the moon. Lexa turns and stares at Clarke as she walks in. Clarke comes to stop beside Lexa and looks out towards the stars, trying to get her words straight before she speaks.

Lexa beats her to the draw.

“I’m sorry,” She says softly. “I should have asked you before I told Anya.”

Clarke nods, accepting the apology. She admits, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have acted out like that.”

“May I ask why you were so upset?” Lexa questions gently.

Clarke doesn’t say anything – not because she doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t really know the answer.

“Were you jealous?” Lexa ventures. She hurriedly adds, “Because I can assure you, Anya is just a friend.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Clarke says, shaking her head. “I think… I think it might have something to do with _us_.”

Lexa furrows her brows, and Clarke would have to be blind to miss the pain that flashes across her eyes.

She quietly asks, “Are you having second thoughts about being with me?”

“What? No, of course not!” Clarke exclaims.

She tries to grab Lexa’s hand, but forgets that Lexa is full-ghost right now, and her fingers only pass through a sheet of stinging cold. Lexa whimpers at the sight, and the sound pulls agonisingly at Clarke’s heartstrings.

“Lexa, I don’t regret us, or anything to do with you. I just…” Clarke pauses in thought, not wanting to rush into her answer. She sighs when she finally realises why she lashed out. She confesses, “I hate having to hide how I feel about you.”

“Clarke…” Lexa’s tone is contrite, and Clarke interrupts before she can try to apologise for something she has no control over.

“I know, Lexa. I _know_ that I can’t tell my friends about us, and I _know_ that there’s a good reason for it. You’re not allowed to tell me why, because you’re bound by obligation, and I _know_ that,” Clarke assures her. She smiles sadly before continuing, “But just because I know, doesn’t mean I understand. I _hate_ that I don’t understand. I hate that I’m not even _allowed_ to understand.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Lexa admits, after a heavy moment of silence. “I wish that I could change our circumstances, but I can’t.”

Clarke sighs and says, “Things are as they are, I suppose.”

“Will you promise me something?” Lexa asks suddenly.

Clarke raises her brows. “That depends on what it is.”

“If things get too hard,” Lexa says seriously. “Will you walk away?”

Clarke is quiet for a moment as she tries to process the request.

“Why would I do that?” she eventually asks, barely masking her confusion. “Isn’t that the antithesis of every good relationship? Shouldn’t we _fight_ for each other when things get hard?”

Lexa is twisting her fingers together in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety when she answers. “I understand that it is a strange request. But our relationship itself is… _different_. It makes sense that the conditions are different too. I am…” she trails off and gestures awkwardly at her transparent body. “I’m here to stay. But you can still walk away, should you ever want to. All I ask is that you don’t compromise your wellbeing to keep us together.”

Clarke thinks that she should be adjusted to Lexa’s state of being by now, but every reminder still sends a sharp pang through her chest.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, albeit reluctantly. “But only if you promise not to push me away if things _do_ get hard.”

Lexa nods once. “That sounds fair.”

Clarke nods too. “Good.”

“Would you mind…?” Lexa asks quietly, gesturing at her body, and Clarke knows exactly what she’s asking for.

She casts the substantive charm and watches Lexa’s feet hit the floor with a slight thud. Lexa immediately reaches for Clarke, and Clarke sinks into her cold embrace.

“Why Anya, of all people?” Clarke asks curiously, laying her cheek against Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa hesitates, but she admits, “I knew her.”

“Before you…?” Clarke trails off, not wanting to say it.

She feels Lexa nod. “We were friends.”

“And you trust her?” Clarke asks.

“Yes,” Lexa says, and her voice sounds resolute.

Clarke vaguely remembers her dream, how she had vouched for her friends when Lexa was uncertain about them. She closes her eyes and sighs against Lexa’s cool skin.

“If you trust her, then I trust her too.”

Lexa presses an appreciative kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”

Clarke hums against Lexa’s shoulder. “But if she tries to intimidate me again-”

Lexa takes a step back and grasps Clarke’s shoulders in her hands. “She did _what_?”

Upon seeing the rage simmering in Lexa’s eyes, Clarke tries to backtrack and insist that it must have been a misunderstanding. Lexa doesn’t seem at all inclined to believe her, and Clarke eventually sighs in defeat.

***

Anya comes over to Clarke during breakfast the next morning and grumbles a half-hearted apology before heading towards the exit. Clarke sees her shoot a glare towards the Slytherin table on her way out; she follows her gaze to find Lexa sitting smugly in her usual seat. Clarke shakes her head and bites back a smile, which only serves to make Lexa grin.


	7. (savour the sorrow to soften the pain) i'd settle for an honest mistake in the name of one sweet love

Their moments together are getting shorter and shorter. It’s almost like the substantive charm is losing its strength with every use, or Lexa is developing some sort of tolerance against it.

(Clarke still doesn’t want to admit defeat, even though their only salvation is slowly but surely deteriorating.)

***

She feels the air behind her body grow colder, exactly where Lexa is lying. It’s all the warning she gets before the ghost loses her corporeal form and Clarke is doused in the stinging pain of a thousand icy blades, right where Lexa’s arm was once hugging her torso.

The sensation doesn’t last long. Clarke rolls over to find Lexa hovering with her legs over the side of the bed. She sits up and instinctively reaches a hand out to the ghost, only for her fingertips to pass through cold air.

“Lexa?” Clarke asks hesitantly, after a long stretch of silence.

The ghost doesn’t turn around. She breathes a laugh and mutters, “It’s like we’re trying to fix a broken wand with Spello-tape.”

Clarke furrows her brows. “What does that even mean?”

“The substantive charm,” Lexa clarifies, still facing away from her. “The last few weeks with you have been wonderful, but we both know that this is just a temporary fix for a permanent problem.”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, but the first tear has already slipped down her cheek. She thought it was a good thing at first, discovering how to make Lexa solid again. All it really does is remind them that Lexa is neither here nor there, living but not alive, dead but not gone.

“But I’m falling in love with you,” Clarke whispers, like her confession is the eleventh-hour impetus to an impossible solution.

Lexa finally turns around at that. She smiles wanly. “I already _am_ in love with you, Clarke. But I don’t know how long I can do this, not when I can see how much it hurts you every time the charm wears off.”

It sounds like Lexa is close to giving up, and Clarke can’t bring herself to say anything after that.

(When Lexa becomes incorporeal for the third time that night and Clarke sinks through her body, she barely even feels the cold – the ache in her chest hurts much more. Because she remembers the stupid promise she made Lexa, and it seems like things between them are only getting harder to handle.)

***

_Another term has come and gone, and another holiday break is upon them. As they often are, Clarke and Lexa are lying in bed, tangled up in each other. Lexa’s room is not as comfortable as Clarke’s, but after an incident where Abby had unknowingly stumbled upon them in Clarke’s bed – Lexa was thankfully concealed under Clarke’s quick Disillusionment charm – they both agreed it was time for a change of venue._

_(Abby may not have seen Lexa’s naked body, but she wasn’t spared from Clarke’s equally nude state. Suffice it to say, the matron refused to leave until she had scanned the room with narrowed eyes. Lexa hesitantly agreed to hold their trysts in her bedroom for the time being, just until Abby’s suspicions died down.)_

_“This place has never felt like a home before now,” Lexa murmurs into Clarke’s neck._

_Clarke takes a second to glance around. Now that she’s paying attention to something other than the warmth of Lexa’s body, she notes that Lexa’s bedroom is devoid of any personal touch. The walls are undecorated, the desktop completely bare. She belatedly realises that Lexa’s school dormitory looks more lived in than this room._

_“What’s changed?” Clarke asks curiously, in response to Lexa’s seemingly throwaway comment._

_“I brought something back from Hogwarts – something to brighten the place up a little, make it feel more like_ me _,” Lexa says nonchalantly. “I would understand if you haven’t noticed, given that you’ve only been in my room once before, and only for a few minutes too.”_

_Clarke digs her fingers into Lexa’s side. She smirks when Lexa yelps and tries to arch away._

_“I thought I told you not to bring the Apparition incident up again.”_

_“Sorry,” Lexa says flippantly. She captures Clarke’s hand in her own, likely to ensure that her fingers don’t go wandering to find her ticklish spots. “I mustn’t have heard you when you said that.”_

_“Consider this your final warning,” Clarke says as darkly as she can._

_Lexa merely chuckles and burrows her face deeper into the crook of Clarke’s neck._

_“What’s this thing that you brought back from Hogwarts?” Clarke asks when they’re both settled again. She does another visual sweep of the room to check that she hasn’t missed some obscure decoration, like an ornamental tassel on the drapes._

_Lexa hums. “I’m sure you can guess the answer. It’s the focal point of every room. The most beautiful thing you’ll ever lay eyes on. Has disgusting taste in sandwich fillings. Responds to the name ‘Clarke’.”_

_Clarke feels Lexa’s mouth curl into a smile, and she can’t help her huff of laughter._

_“You sweet-talker,” she teases, even as she tucks Lexa’s head more securely under her chin._

_“Truth-teller,” Lexa corrects, though her words are muffled because her lips are pressed against Clarke’s skin. “You have disgusting taste in sandwich fillings.”_

_Clarke rolls her eyes. “To each their own.”_

_“Mmm, no,” Lexa drawls. “I think the entire universe would agree with me, actually-”_

_Lexa’s argument is punctuated by a yawn, and Clarke shushes her when she tries to continue. Fighting against her own drowsiness, Clarke lovingly tells Lexa to shut up and go to sleep. Lexa mumbles something incomprehensible into her neck – Clarke thinks she might have said, “I’m only doing this because I want to, not because you told me to” – before she yawns once more and her breathing deepens._

_Clarke is on the precipice of sleep when she hears Lexa speak softly._

_“I was telling the truth earlier. This place has never felt like a home before now. I hope you understand why.”_

_Lexa quiets after that, and Clarke thinks she must have finally fallen asleep. But more words come eventually, whispered lovingly against Clarke’s skin and settling warmly in her heart._

_“I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m with you.”_

_\---_

_However Clarke expected to wake up the next morning – preferably with a gentle kiss and the promise of another hour in bed – this was not it._

_An imposing figure stands silently in the doorway, brandishing his wand. His bald head is dotted with sweat and his shoulders are taut. He looks between Clarke and Lexa with disgust._

_Clarke is frozen in fear, hoping that this is all just a nightmare._

_Unfortunately for her, the situation is all too real. When the man realises Clarke is awake, he points his wand directly at her._

_“If you scream or try to wake Alexandria, I will make sure that you suffer before I kill you.”_

_Clarke’s breath catches in her throat. She doesn’t have any time to dwell on the revelation of Lexa’s full name before the man is ordering her to stand._

_“Get up,” he commands with a hard flick of his wand._

_With the way Clarke’s limbs move – stiltedly and without her meaning to – she realises that she is not in full control of her own body._

_She doesn’t care for her own safety though. Even in the face of death, Clarke’s only concern is Lexa._

_Clarke’s eyes remain on her girlfriend’s sleeping form as her legs bring her further away. She hates that she will die without telling Lexa that she loves her._

_She comes to a stop before the man, standing just beyond the end of the bed. The tip of his wand is pointed threateningly at her chest. She closes her eyes and hopes that Lexa stays asleep long enough to not witness this._

_Her hope is shattered within seconds. Lexa’s voice breaks the quiet, low and menacing as she addresses the intruder._

_“If you hurt her, I will destroy you.”_

_Clarke’s eyes snap open, and she sees Lexa standing behind the man, her wand pointed directly at the back of his head. Clarke realises Lexa must have slunk out of bed while he was otherwise distracted with her._

_“Alexandria, my child-” he tries, but Lexa cuts him off with a harsh laugh._

_“Don’t call me that,” Lexa says sharply, circling him slowly until she is standing beside Clarke. “The deluded faith I had that this family could redeem itself – that tenuous string of hope, deep down in my heart, for my mama and papa – it’s gone now. You’ve threatened the one good thing I have in my life, and I won’t turn a blind eye to your evil ways anymore. You are nothing to me, Titus.”_

_Lexa’s father doesn’t bat an eyelid at the dismissal. Though her expression remains neutral, the way Lexa’s fingers clench tighter around her wand tells Clarke that Titus’s indifference has hit harder than she wants it to._

_He sneers at them both, wand still pointed firmly at Clarke. “That Wallace boy was right, Alexandria – you_ are _a filthy traitor.”_

_“I’d rather be a traitor than be anything like you,” Lexa retorts. The corner of her lip turns up in distaste. “You and the rest of your people are_ vile _. Immoral. Scum of the earth-”_

_Titus roars in displeasure. Clarke whimpers when the tip of his wand presses harshly into her chest. Lexa balks when she realises, but she quickly recovers._

_With her wand pointed unflinchingly between her father’s eyes, Lexa warns, “Take a step back, Titus. You wouldn’t want this to get messy, would you?”_

_Titus scoffs, but he concedes and backs up slightly. “You already made things messy, when you chose to couple with a filthy half-blood-”_

_Lexa growls at the insult, and Titus chuckles darkly._

_“I’ve always known that you were never loyal to us,” he continues coolly. “You were never smart enough to choose the right side, were you?”_

_“I was never_ weak _enough to choose the_ wrong _side,” Lexa corrects him._

_Titus shakes his head in disappointment. “I can see your weakness, clear as day,” he says instead, eyeing Clarke. “And it will cost you.”_

_Lexa’s gaze flickers between Titus and Clarke. “If you hurt her-”_

_“Don’t be silly. I can do better than that, Alexandria,” Titus says with a conspiratorial smirk. “I promise she won’t feel any pain.”_

_Lexa frowns in confusion. “What are you implying?”_

_“Why hurt her,” Titus says airily. “When I can hurt_ you _?”_

_There is a moment of complete stillness. No one moves, not a single breath passes between the three. Then everything descends into chaos._

_“_ Avada Kedavra _!”_

_Clarke feels her chest cave in and her heart ache so acutely that she can’t focus on anything_ but _the pain, and she thinks that she must be dead for sure._

_But she isn’t dying – not physically, anyway._

_Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Clarke watches Lexa’s eyes fade from green to grey. Lexa stares unseeingly from the place where Clarke had been standing only a moment ago, before she was forcefully shoved out of the way._

_Clarke isn’t dead. But she almost wishes that she were, because the sight of Lexa falling to the floor beside her feels like a fate even worse than death._

_\---_

_Titus has long since disappeared, a fleeting expression of sorrow being the only thing to indicate that he felt anything at all about accidentally killing his daughter._

_Clarke is vaguely aware of the tears obscuring her vision and the way Lexa remains unmoving in her embrace, but nothing compares to the icy numbness that is slowly spreading through her chest. She continues to cradle Lexa in her arms even though she knows her girlfriend is gone._

_She doesn’t know what to do next, so she does what any other normal teenager would do in a crisis._

Destination, determination, deliberation. Destination, determination, deliberation. Destination, determination, deliberation…

_She feels a sharp pull somewhere around her navel, and everything starts closing in around her. Closer and closer – her chest feels tight; she’s running out of air – until suddenly all the pressure is released._

_Clarke recognises the rug beneath them. It scratches against her bare legs. She sees a discoloured patch on the corner where Raven vomited one summer, after they’d been testing Jasper and Monty’s early attempts to make moonshine. They tried a cleaning spell to vanish the mess away, but their inebriated magic only managed to make the stain permanent. Clarke registers her mother’s worried voice somewhere above her, but everything sounds hazy, like her head is submerged in water._

_She feels the body lying heavy in her lap and instinctively looks down. She inhales sharply when she catches Lexa’s blank gaze. The tears start anew – she doesn’t know if they ever really stopped – and when Abby tries to pry her fingers from where they are curled in Lexa’s sleep shirt, Clarke only clings tighter._

_“I love her, mum. I never got to tell her that I love her. I love her so much.”_

_\---_

_Weeks pass, and all Clarke can bring herself to do is blink and breathe._

_\---_

_Abby says she’s suffering from depression. Clarke just nods and closes the door in her face before crawling back into bed._

_“It’s bad,” she hears Raven say to Abby. It’s the first time Clarke has ever heard Raven say something to her mother that didn’t include a sexual innuendo. “Really fucking bad.”_

_“I’ve never seen her like this before,” Octavia laments. She faintly hears Bellamy’s grunt of agreement in the background._

_Wells’ voice is the last one Clarke hears before she falls asleep again._

_“What are we going to do?”_

_\---_

_Clarke stares vacantly at the woman whose badge reads_ Healer Tsing _. She only realises that this woman is talking when Abby, who is sitting beside Clarke on the too-small sofa, says something in response and Clarke can feel her voice resonate from her throat down through their pressed-together shoulders._

_“Having a loved one die can be traumatising. Having them die to protect you is another ordeal entirely,” Healer Tsing is saying, fingers steepled atop the desk that separates them. “Clarke may not be present enough to realise it yet, but she likely feels remorse for Lexa’s death. In combination with the painful loss of her first love, this guilt could cause her to sink into an even deeper depression.”_

_“She doesn’t do anything but sleep,” Abby says forlornly. “I’m a Healer myself, and I’ve tried looking at this objectively, but… I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”_

_“As her mother, it must be hard for you to see her like this,” Tsing acknowledges. She smiles with her teeth, and Clarke thinks it makes her look like a rabid dog. “Fortunately, we offer a radical treatment here at Mount Weather Medical that would relieve Clarke of the feelings associated with her recent ordeal. Have you ever heard of Obliviation?”_

_Abby frowns. “Getting rid of her memories? I’ve heard that it’s a dangerous procedure.”_

_“If we can remove the last year of her life – or however long she has known Lexa – then Clarke will no longer feel the way she does. Every treatment has its risks, Madam Griffin,” Tsing says pacifyingly. “As a Healer, you must know this.”_

_“Yes, of course, but…” Abby shakes her head. Clarke feels it through the jostling of their shoulders. “I’m sorry, I can’t agree to that procedure. Obliviating so much of her memory is bound to leave a deficit.”_

_Tsing sighs. If Clarke were in the right state of mind, she would say that she looked disappointed._

_“There has to be another way,” Abby says, almost pleadingly. “Clarke is a shell of the person she used to be. She can’t go on like this.”_

_“We have another treatment that could work,” Tsing concedes with a small nod. “It’s not as_ radical _as Obliviation, but it should still relieve Clarke of her pain.”_

_“What does the procedure entail?” Abby asks keenly._

_Tsing purses her lips together before answering. “We can alter the memories she has of Lexa – cut the girl out and replace the missing parts with false memories, to avoid leaving any suspicious gaps,” she explains. “However, there is a chance that Clarke may realise there are inconsistencies in her memories. If she becomes self-aware, then she may undo any memories we have altered and potentially revert back to her current state.”_

_Clarke hears the words as if they are passing through poorly made earmuffs. She desperately wants to relieve the dull ache that has taken up permanent residence in her chest. But she doesn’t want to forget about Lexa, like the Healer is suggesting._

_Her body is a prison though, and she can’t bring herself to say a single word against the idea._

_“What about her friends?” Abby asks. “The ones that knew Lexa too? There are maybe half a dozen of them.”_

_“It may be too difficult to charm all their memories,” Tsing surmises. “You will have to trust that they never mention Lexa again, otherwise they risk undoing the alterations to Clarke’s memory.”_

_There is a moment of silence._

_“Okay,” Abby eventually agrees. “How do we do this?”_

_“I’ll need you to sign some forms first,” Tsing says, reaching into a drawer beneath the desk. “Because of Clarke’s mentally incapacitated state, we can grant you the authority to accept the treatment on her behalf…”_

_As Abby reviews the documents, all Clarke can do is continue to blink and breathe._

_\---_

_Clarke is lying in a hospital bed with Abby perched on a chair beside her, holding her hand. Clarke isn’t holding her mother’s hand in return, but Abby is squeezing tight enough for the both of them._

_She registers the clicking of high heels coming down the hall, and soon enough Tsing walks into the room. The Healer is followed by another woman, who smiles at Clarke in greeting._

_“Hello, Clarke. Madam Griffin,” the woman acknowledges Clarke’s mother. “My name is Alie. I’m another one of the Healers at Mount Weather. I’ll be helping Healer Tsing with the procedure today, if that’s okay with you?”_

_Abby nods once, before her focus goes back to holding Clarke’s hand. Alie and Tsing position themselves on either side of the bed, right by Clarke’s head. Clarke stares blankly up at the ceiling as the Healers point their wands at her temples._

_“We’ll start by sorting out which of Clarke’s memories contain Lexa,” Alie says. “Once we do that, we can begin altering each one to remove any traces of her.”_

_“The whole procedure may take some time, depending on how deeply entrenched Lexa is in Clarke’s mind. And because Clarke will have to relive each memory as we alter them, she may feel some pain,” Tsing informs Abby. Clarke’s breaths become a little shallower, but no one else seems to notice. “If you feel you need to leave, we’ll understand.”_

_Alie adds, “Clarke will understand too. A mother shouldn’t have to watch her child suffer.”_

_Abby says nothing, just clings resolutely to Clarke’s hand. Clarke wishes she had the energy to squeeze her mother’s hand in return._

_Tsing nods. “If you’re sure, Madam Griffin. Here we go.”_

_\---_

_It hurts to see every single moment play out before her eyes. But the joy of seeing Lexa alive and well, even if only in her memory, is worth the pain._

_There is a sudden commotion by the door, and Clarke belatedly realises that Abby is no longer holding her hand. She laments the loss only briefly, before sinking back into her pillow and waiting for the next memory to play in her mind’s eye._

“Clarke? Clarke! What are they doing to her? Abby, what’s going on-”

_Lexa’s voice sounds so real, Clarke thinks. She doesn’t remember a time when Lexa has ever said her name like that before, desperation and fear making themselves known in the cracks and hoarseness of her screams. It must have been a bad dream or something, Clarke concludes._

“Lexa… it’s done. You’re too late. If you stay, you’ll only hurt her.”

_Abby’s voice breaks through her sleepy fog. Clarke is confused by her words, but she chalks it up to the nightmare that she’s reliving and lets the Healers continue their work. She closes her eyes and lets everything else fade away._

_\---_

_Days later, Clarke reads in the paper that some teenage girl was killed at the hands of a crazed Death Eater revivalist. She pauses at the mention of her name – just Alexandria, no last name – and rubs her thumb over the raised ink letters. Her heart twinges for the young life lost. She shakes her head, disgusted that anyone could be so vile as to commit murder, and hopes that the perpetrator is caught soon._

_She forgets the girl’s name by the time she turns the page._

_\---_

_Clarke greets Raven with a hug when she arrives at King’s Cross. Raven hugs her back fiercely, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, and Clarke laughs at her uncharacteristic enthusiasm._

_“It’s good to see you, Griffin,” Raven says when they eventually part. Her eyes look strangely watery, but her voice doesn’t waver when she adds, “I missed you.”_

_Clarke can’t help but smile. Admissions of affection from Raven are a rarity._

_“I missed you too,” Clarke says warmly._

_As she looks around for the rest of their friends, she asks Raven how her summer was. It’s not Raven that answers though._

_“Not as good as Bellamy’s, I’d wager.” Octavia pops her face over Clarke’s shoulder and grins. “Are we all glad to be going back to Hogwarts?”_

_Raven acknowledges her with a nod before rounding on Bellamy, who is approaching them with his and Octavia’s trunks in tow. He slows when he notices Raven’s blank expression._

_“What did you get up to this summer, Blake? Or should I ask_ who _instead?”_

_Bellamy chuckles as he comes to a stop before them. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Reyes?”_

_“You wish,” Raven retorts._

_Clarke manages to offer Bellamy a smile in greeting before Raven starts needling him about his holiday. Octavia captures her attention with a question of her own._

_“Is that really you, Clarke?” she asks softly._

_Clarke makes a funny face at the strange question. “Who else would I be?”_

_Octavia looks like she’s about to say something, but seems to change her mind at the last second. She dismisses Clarke’s questioning gaze with a shake of her head and reaches out to pull her into a hug._

_“I missed you,” Octavia murmurs into her shoulder, gently rocking side-to-side as they hug._

_Clarke laughs lightly and sways with her. “There seems to be a lot of that going around right now. I missed you too, of course.”_

_She grins when she sees Wells emerge from a crowd of muggles, already dressed in his school robes. She grins at him over Octavia’s shoulder._

_“I don’t suppose you missed me too?” Clarkes asks Wells cheerfully, when she and Octavia finally separate._

_“’Course not,” he says gruffly, though the twinkle in his eye betrays him. “Bellamy is the one I missed most, obviously.”_

_Clarke snickers, and Octavia gives a small smile. Neither Raven nor Bellamy have even noticed Wells’ arrival, too caught up in their hushed bickering._

_“Raven is getting really worked up,” Clarke notes amusedly. “What_ did _Bell do during the summer, O?”_

_Octavia actually snorts at that question. “He had the pleasure of being in my company the entire holiday.”_

_“Really? That’s all?” Clarke asks with a laugh. “You just wanted to rile Raven up, didn’t you?”_

_“As if Raven needs a reason to rage at Bellamy. His_ presence _is enough to set her off,” Octavia says bluntly. Clarke and Wells follow as she begins walking towards the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters. “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think I can stand another year of those two and their skinny love.”_

_“It’s when two people have feelings for each other but refuse to admit it,” Clarke explains when Wells looks confused at the phrase ‘skinny love’. She shoots Octavia an amused smile. “You’ve been picking up on muggle slang.”_

_“An unfortunate side effect of being friends with Raven. She makes me listen to muggle music on that pod of hers, and sometimes the lyrics just stick,” Octavia answers with a dramatic sigh. “Seriously though, I don’t think I can handle one more year of their squabbling. They need to talk about their feelings and have a proper go at being in a relationship instead of just messing around with each other._ Soon _. Before I lock them in a broom cupboard and force them to face the facts.”_

_“But what about Finn?” Wells asks diplomatically. “Isn’t Raven still…?”_

_“Raven isn’t in love with him anymore,” Octavia says resolutely. “She’s just having trouble letting go of the past.”_

_“She has good reason to hold onto the past though,” Clarke comments, glancing behind to make sure Raven and Bellamy are following them through the station, even as they quarrel._

_“What reason is that?” Wells questions curiously._

_“You can’t just_ forget _your first love,” Clarke says, like she’s stating that grass is green and the sky is blue. “That kind of love stays with you forever – even when you don’t want it to.”_

***

Clarke wakes in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around her legs and her sleep shirt twisted around her torso.

Meeting with her friends at King’s Cross, watching Octavia goad Bellamy and Raven into yet another fight, telling Wells that a first love can never be truly forgotten… they weren’t scenes in yet another inexplicably realistic dream. They were very _real_ things that happened only months ago, at the beginning of the school year.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

All the ‘dreams’ she could recall with startling clarity – all the moments that had been swirling in the back of her mind like a pensieve full of memories, so convincing that she _swears_ she must have lived them – were not figments of her imagination.

_I haven’t been dreaming_ , Clarke realises with a jolt. _I’ve been remembering_.

Those moments were real.

Everything was _real_.

***

The clock on the wall tells her that it is three in the morning. She has class in a few hours, unfinished homework to complete, exams to study for. But none of it matters right now. As soon as Lexa floats through the door to the Astronomy Tower classroom, Clarke speaks.

“Tell me you didn’t push me out of the way of a killing curse that your father aimed at me.”

To her credit, Lexa doesn’t look surprised by the accusation. She simply floats forward until they are standing face to face in the middle of the room.

“Please don’t make me do this-” the ghost tries, but she is quickly cut off.

“Lexa,” Clarke sighs, a soft request for the truth. “Just tell me.”

Lexa clenches her jaw. Clarke waits. She watches as Lexa’s pretences slowly fall away to reveal a lost and confused teenage girl, trying to pretend that the world isn’t falling to pieces around her.

“I can’t tell you that,” Lexa admits reluctantly.

“Can’t because you don’t want to?” Clarke taunts, tired of the deceit. “Or because it’s a lie?”

Lexa’s silence says all Clarke needs to hear. Her lower lip begins to tremble and she can feel hot tears gathering in her eyes, but Clarke is overwhelmingly _maddened_ by the fact that everyone she trusts has been lying to her for so long.

“I can’t believe you would keep this from me!” she cries.

Lexa looks utterly distressed by her outburst. Her hands reach to try and comfort Clarke before she appears to realise how useless her attempt would be.

The action only serves to make Clarke sob harder. Even though she’s angry at Lexa – at the whole world, really – she wouldn’t shy away from Lexa’s touch. Not now, not ever.

“Abby said we could never even _see_ each other again,” Lexa says imploringly. “I couldn’t tell you without ruining everything she did to help-”

Clarke shakes her head, and Lexa ceases her rambling. “Why would you let them go through with the procedure? Why would you let them take my memories of you?”

“I thought it was what you wanted,” Lexa says, brows furrowed in confusion. “Abby said you agreed-”

Clarke cuts her off with a derisive laugh. “I didn’t say anything at all, much less agree with her.”

“But you didn’t disagree with her either,” Lexa counters, but without a hint of malice in her voice.

Clarke scoffs at her pragmatism. “I was out of my right mind with grief.”

Lexa visibly deflates. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and Clarke winces at the sorrow colouring her tone, “I was just trying to do the right thing. Your mother made it sound like you wanted the procedure.”

“What I _wanted_ was for my heart to stop hurting,” Clarke exhales heavily, and the argument is all but over. “I never wanted to forget you. But the procedure…”

Lexa doesn’t push. She waits patiently, like she knows that Clarke is having trouble finding the words and just needs a minute to get her thoughts in order. Clarke is grateful for her tacit understanding.

“I had to watch every single memory of you, from the very beginning. I was so desperate to stop the pain, to erase the memory of you dead in my arms. When they started with that first memory, of you holding my hand as we Apparated from your bedroom… I was so happy to see you smiling again,” Clarke explains with a bitter smile. “I had already forgotten what would happen when the procedure was done. I was so consumed in you, I forgot that each memory I relived would be the last time I saw it.”

Lexa drifts closer as Clarke speaks. Clarke wants to use the charm to make her solid again, to feel physical comfort in her arms, but she won’t make this harder than it already is.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Clarke admits.

(She forces herself to swallow the instant remorse that comes with those words. They’re kidding themselves if they think that anything good can become of this, of _them._ The longer they delude themselves, the more pain they will feel when everything inevitably falls apart. It makes sense to stop now, Clarke thinks, before things get even messier and they lose their willpower.)

Lexa blinks uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. Clarke watches as understanding eventually dawns in her silvery grey eyes.

“Do you mean to say…?”

Clarke nods. She doesn’t need to hear the rest of the question to know what Lexa is asking.

Lexa’s gaze flickers from her eyes to her mouth, from her chin to her ears, like she’s trying to memorise every line of her face. Clarke’s hands twitch, longing to reach out for the girl and hold her, and she decides that she needs to end this before she starts crying again.

“Goodbye, Lexa.”

Despite her pained expression, Lexa makes no move to stop Clarke as she walks around her and towards the exit. Clarke chances one last look at Lexa after she opens the door; the ghost is still hovering where she left her, but she’s staring out into the night through the ever-open window of the Astronomy Tower classroom instead.

“I promised I wouldn’t stop you from leaving,” Lexa says quietly. Brokenly. She turns around and pins Clarke with her despondent gaze. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to stay, Clarke.”

Clarke’s heart aches in her chest. She didn’t think that ghosts could cry, but all evidence to the contrary is staring right at her, with tears welling in her eyes.

***

Clarke is wandering aimlessly through the castle. She knows she shouldn’t be out of bed at this hour, but breaking school rules seems so trivial after what she’s just been through. After she makes her way out of the Astronomy Tower, she walks up every flight of the Grand Staircase from the Entrance Hall to the seventh floor, and then from the seventh floor down to the dungeons, just because she can. She meanders through dark corridors and empty rooms, and finds herself absentmindedly tickling a painting of a pear and ambling into the kitchens.

The house elves take one look at her tearstained cheeks before ushering her into a seat in front of the fireplace and pushing a tray into her hands.

That was thirty minutes ago. The peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich lays untouched on its plate, and the cup of tea beside it is cold. Clarke is grateful for the comfort food and the house elves’ unquestioning presence, but she doesn’t think she can stomach anything right now.

Even so, Zoran the house elf comes by a little while later with a fresh cup of tea. He replaces her cold drink without any fuss.

Clarke thinks that these creatures are too good for this world.

Ten minutes later, she is retracting that thought.

Octavia is making her way through the door, closely followed by Raven, Bellamy and Wells. They greet the house elves as they walk past, until they are crowded around Clarke at the far end of the room.

“Zoran told us you were down here,” Octavia explains, leaning against the brick wall beside the fireplace and absently reaching a hand towards the warmth.

Clarke glances over at Zoran, who looks over when he hears his name. When he sees Clarke, he offers her guilty little smile before returning to work.

“Don’t get angry at him – he was just worried about you,” Wells says, sending the elf a sidelong glance. “We all are.”

“Lexa says that you remember everything,” Raven interrupts, frank as always.

She perches on the arm of Clarke’s chair, like the tension isn’t radiating off her in waves. Wells shoots Raven an exasperated look, which Clarke would normally laugh at.

“You hid this from me,” she says instead. “All of you.”

“Clarke-” Bellamy begins and steps closer, but she cuts him off.

“I need more time, okay?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, despite how she phrases it, and thankfully Octavia and Raven appear to understand that. But Bellamy doesn’t.

“Whatever you need, we can give that to you,” he promises, crouching before her so he can look her in the eyes.

Clarke knows that Bellamy means well, but sometimes he can be incredibly obtuse.

“You can’t give me what I need,” she says honestly, but that doesn’t deter him.

“I mean it, Clarke. Whatever you-”

“Bell!” Octavia hisses, clearly tired of her brother’s persistence. “She gets it, okay? Stop harassing-”

“You can’t give me Lexa,” Clarke interrupts bluntly. She loves her friends, and she knows that all this fuss just shows that they care, but she can’t do this right now. She takes the tray of uneaten food on her lap and places it on the floor before she knocks it over, or something worse. “You can’t get her _back_. You can’t-”

She forces herself to stop there, because she’s already feeling vulnerable as it is. She doesn’t want them to see her cry. She doesn’t think she has any tears left, anyway.

“Okay,” Bellamy relents, albeit reluctantly, and Clarke sighs in relief. “I’m sorry for pushing. We’re just-”

“-worried about me,” Clarke finishes wryly. “I know. But I just need to be alone for a while, that’s all.”

Bellamy agrees with a stiff nod. “If that’s what you think you need.”

He stands, and her friends finally prepare to leave. Octavia shoots her one last querying look, asking if she’s really okay. Clarke knows that she isn’t – not right now – but she eventually will be, so she nods. Octavia accepts the answer and joins her brother as he walks back across the kitchen.

Wells puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiles, as if he’s apologising for Bellamy’s behaviour. Clarke tells Wells that it’s not his fault how other people act, and nudges him to trail after the two siblings.

Raven hasn’t moved from her spot on the arm of the chair. Clarke turns toward her expectantly.

“Here,” she says when Wells is out of earshot, pressing something into Clarke’s hands.

Clarke looks down to find her dad’s watch between her fingers, the hands ticking steadily and at the right pace. It’s the third time she’s had to ask Raven to fix the damn thing, and she was starting to worry that she’d have to let it go.

“You fixed it again,” Clarke whispers, more to herself than to Raven. She smooths her thumb reverently over the glass-covered clock face before addressing her friend, “Thank you.”

“It had nothing to do with me this time,” Raven says, wrinkling her nose like she’s disappointed that she wasn’t the mastermind behind the repair. “I only noticed it was working properly when Zoran woke me up at the ass crack of dawn and said you were in the kitchens but you weren’t eating your damn sandwich. The watch wasn’t doing a thing when I was tinkering with it yesterday – must have started working again on its own or something.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, a crease appearing between her brows. “But how…?”

Raven shrugs. “Magic, I guess?”

Clarke can’t help but chuckle dryly at her answer. “Of course.”

Raven knocks their shoulders together, a half-smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then. But just so you know – I have a bottle of Masper’s finest moonshine hidden in my trunk for whenever you’re ready.”

She shoots Clarke a wink before standing and sauntering to the door, where the rest of their friends are waiting.

***

It’s been a week, and Clarke feels no better than she did when she left Lexa in the Astronomy Tower classroom. So she skips class – partly because she _can_ , and partly because she feels ready to finally confront her mother.

Clarke has been harbouring resentment towards Abby ever since she recovered her memories. She’s lost Lexa _twice_ now, and the evidence made it easy to point the blame towards her mother. If it weren’t for Abby’s suspicions, they would have never been in Lexa’s bedroom that night, and Titus would never have seen them. If it weren’t for Abby’s interference after Lexa’s passing, she wouldn’t be in this position with Lexa, and she wouldn’t be hurting like she is now.

When she rounds the corner to the hospital wing, she has every intention of barging into the room and raging until her lungs burn from overexertion. The only thing that stops her is the conversation that drifts through the closed door.

_“You don’t need to keep asking the house elves to bring me food.”_

_“I do, actually.”_

Clarke’s eyes flutter shut, and all of the anger that had been burning red-hot in her chest ebbs away. She would know that voice anywhere.

_“I’m serious, Lexa.”_

_“Humour me, Abby. I know that you’ve been stressed ever since the events of last summer, and sometimes you forget to eat. Clarke has already lost me; she doesn’t need to lose her mother too.”_

Clarke’s heart grows heavy with knowledge that she was never supposed to hear. She’s a second from legging it back to the Gryffindor common room when a silvery grey body floats through the door and freezes at the sight of her.

Lexa opens her mouth as if to say something, but Clarke shakes her head.

“Please don’t.”

Don’t _what_ , Clarke has no idea, but Lexa’s jaw snaps shut nonetheless. She gives Clarke a lingering look before wordlessly taking her leave. Clarke pretends like her heart isn’t beating a fierce rhythm in her chest at the sadness in Lexa’s eyes.

She pushes through the door and catches her mother single-handedly straightening a sheet on a bed, with the other hand holding a half-eaten pasty. When Abby notices her, she almost drops the pasty on the bed.

“Why did you do it?” Clarke asks, not bothering with a greeting.

Abby glances over to the bed at the far end of the room, which has a curtain drawn around it. “We should move this somewhere more private.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but begins leading the way to the matron’s office. She doesn’t even wait for the door to close before questioning Abby again.

“Why did you alter my memories?”

Abby sighs. She conjures a napkin to wrap around her unfinished pasty, and tucks it into a drawer beneath her desk. Clarke tuts at the infuriatingly leisurely behaviour.

“You weren’t getting any better,” Abby says eventually, and Clarke feels the indignation bubbling up in her stomach.

“You didn’t give me enough _time_ to get better!” Clarke argues.

Abby gives her a searching look, “Do you really think that more time would have helped you come to terms with Lexa’s death?”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, but she’s pretty sure her mother knows the answer anyway. Her shoulders drop as all the fight leaves her body for the second time in so many minutes. Abby hums sympathetically and opens her arms.

Clarke only hesitates for a second before sinking into her embrace.

“For what it’s worth,” Abby begins carefully, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to relieve you of your pain, Clarke.”

Clarke nods against her shoulder. She knows why Abby did what she did, and she can’t fault a mother who was only trying to care for her daughter.

Abby holds her for a while longer, until Clarke reluctantly pulls away to ask another question.

“Why didn’t Lexa come talk to me? After she… you know.”

“Lexa implied that she was held in some sort of transitional realm for a while after she passed,” Abby explains. “When she eventually came back as a ghost, the Healers were about to begin your treatment. She tried to stop them, but I convinced her that the procedure was the best thing for you.”

“I remember,” Clarke whispers, her eyes fluttering shut as she recalls Lexa’s pained screaming. “I thought it was just another one of the memories that they were dredging up, a forgotten nightmare or something. But she was really there.”

“Yes.”

“And you stopped her from reaching me,” Clarke says flatly, opening her eyes and staring at her mother.

Abby nods, albeit sadly. “Clarke, you have to understand… seeing Lexa as a ghost would only have made things worse. You remember _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ – the story I told you as a child, the one by Beedle the Bard? Cadmus lost his lover and he tried to bring her back with the Resurrection Stone, but he was only driven to madness because she wasn’t really there. I couldn’t let that happen to you, and neither could Lexa.”

Clarke hates the fact that she understands.

***

She has been given a pass from all her professors to take a few days off – no doubt organised by Abby – but Clarke continues going to classes anyway, because what else is she supposed to do? Wallow in her misery?

So she wakes up, goes to her lessons, perhaps eats a meal, does her homework, and goes to sleep. Rinse and repeat, until it becomes routine and she moves through each day without a second thought. She doesn’t speak to her friends, doesn’t speak to her mother, doesn’t speak to anyone – because what would she even say?

_I understand why love is weakness. I loved her. I lost her. And now I’m broken._

Every day continues the same way, quiet and unchanging – until Clarke is literally pushed out of her routine as she is walking through the Entrance Hall after dinner, on her way back to Gryffindor Tower. Anya presses her up against the wall and brackets her arms either side of Clarke’s shoulders so she can’t escape.

“Stop sulking,” Anya says, blunt as ever.

She glares up at Anya, cursing the few inches that constitute their height difference. Anya only looks down at her with an impassive expression. Clarke glances around, hoping that maybe someone will pass by and de-escalate the situation, but the only person nearby is Lincoln. He’s leaning against the wall a little ways away, and offers her an apologetic smile.

Clarke tries to smile back, because she knows that this couldn’t have been his idea, but it comes out more like a grimace.

“Griffin,” Anya snarls, though she is lacking her usual bite. “Are you listening to me? Stop moping around the castle. If I have to see you walking down the hall with that _stupid_ _sad_ _face_ one more time, I am going to-”

“Stop,” Lincoln says lowly. He must not think Anya will actually do anything because he doesn’t move closer. “You didn’t come here to threaten her.”

Anya quiets, but her expression makes the unfinished threat exceedingly clear.

“What’s it to you?” Clarke asks, but she has to clear her throat because it’s been a while since she’s had to use her voice, which makes her retort less intimidating than she would have liked.

Anya rolls her eyes, and Clarke scowls. She squirms in the small space between Anya’s arms, and the other girl grudgingly relinquishes her.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone the night that Lexa died,” Anya says. “Lincoln lost his cousin. I lost my best friend. Raven, Octavia, Bellamy and Wells lost their friend too.”

Her tone isn’t gentle, but it is softer than Clarke has ever heard it before. Clarke can’t help but give pause, and Anya continues on.

“This isn’t just about you, Clarke. Lexa loved you so much that she subconsciously chose to be with you, even in death. She has no choice but to watch you grow older. And when you eventually die, she has to stay here. Alone. All because she loved you.”

Anya hesitates briefly, and then corrects herself, “All because she _loves_ you.”

***

Clarke wonders how much sorrow the stars have witnessed in all their years of existence, and how long it would take for a temporary state of mind to become permanent. She wishes that she were strong enough to move on after everything that has happened, to overcome her pain.

Anya was right, of course. She should be with her friends – _their_ friends – and give them the same support that they have offered her, because they were grieving too. But Clarke feels like she would bleed sadness if someone were to cut her open, and she doesn’t know how she can help anyone when she can’t even help herself.

Clarke wonders whether her dad would be disappointed in her, for letting this experience change her for the worse and not for the better.

_“Things are as they are,”_ she mutters bitterly, looking out at the night sky through the open window of the Astronomy Tower classroom. _“Looking out into the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars-”_

_“-nor between well and badly arranged constellations.”_

Clarke turns around to find Lexa staring at her, wide-eyed and sheepish.

“I’m sorry,” the ghost apologises when Clarke remains quiet and expressionless. “You were here first. I’ll leave.”

And that’s when it _really_ hits Clarke – that she’s been doing this all wrong.

She can’t keep going through the motions because it’s what needs to be done to survive. Life is about more than just surviving. She wants to make her dad proud. She wants to be there for the friends that have been there for her, no matter how hard she’s tried to push them away. She wants to deserve Lexa’s love, a love that made the ultimate sacrifice, a love that transcended death.

Lexa gave her life so that Clarke could live, and even though it feels like her life ended when Lexa’s did, she had to keep going. She owed Lexa that much.

The Healers said that she might revert back if she becomes self-aware, and in her attempt to move past everything, she has done exactly that. Cutting everyone out of her life isn’t going to help her get better, Clarke realises.

“You can stay,” she says.

If Lexa is surprised by her change of heart, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she glides closer to the open window and quietly asks, “Will you ever forgive me? For pushing you out of the way of that curse?”

“Not yet,” Clarke answers truthfully.

Lexa smiles faintly, and Clarke finds it hard not to let the corners of her mouth tick upwards in response. “I love you, Clarke. Never forget that.”

“I don’t think I ever did forget,” Clarke shrugs. “Not really.”

Lexa nods. “I’m glad.”

They stand in a comfortable silence, looking out at the stars.

“Will you ever forgive me?” Clarke asks later, when she realises that it’s almost midnight and they should leave before the next Astronomy class begins.

“For what?” Lexa asks confusedly.

“Not being able to save you,” Clarke says, furrowing her brows.

Lexa opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly at a loss for words. “I was never angry at you,” she says eventually.

“But you died because of me,” Clarke says, like she’s stating the obvious.

“I died because Titus cast the killing curse,” Lexa corrects her, without a hint of acrimony. “Don’t shoulder the blame for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Clarke wants to cry because Lexa’s soul is so good and so pure, and she deserved much more than the life she was given.

“Why did you do it?” Clarke asks.

Lexa doesn’t even take a second to consider her answer. “I did what felt right,” she says simply. “I chose my heart over my head. I chose _you_. And if I could go back, I would do the same thing all over again.”

Clarke sighs shakily, and scarcely manages to keep her tears at bay. “I love you too, Lexa. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before you- before _he_ -”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it,” Lexa says gently, moving as close as she can without passing through Clarke’s body. “I always knew.”

“I was that obvious, huh?” Clarke says jokily, trying to lighten the mood.

Lexa smiles softly. “No more than myself, I’m sure.”

She continues watching Clarke with a tender expression, somewhat amused and somewhat endeared. Clarke asks why she’s looking at her like that.

“Like what?” Lexa says obliviously.

“Like it’s the last time you’re ever going to see me,” Clarke says pointedly.

“I’ve never been able to hide anything from you, have I?” Lexa says with a wry smile. “There’s no easy way to say this, but I think I’ve found a way to send my spirit on.”

“What?” Clarke asks, flabbergasted. “How-”

“I talked with the other ghosts. They believe that I may be able to pass through the veil because my case is special – because I was not borne of a fear of death,” Lexa says evenly. “I’m here because I love you, and I never got the chance to tell you. Now that I have… all I need is for you to let me go.”

“But I don’t want you to leave,” Clarke says, a frown marring her features.

It feels like she’s only just gotten Lexa _back_ – how cruel must the world be to take her away again, and so soon? But then Lexa sighs heavily and gently reminds her of the reality of their situation.

“I’m already gone,” Lexa says simply.

Clarke has to avert her eyes because she can feel the tears welling up again, but she manages to quietly ask, “Is this what you need to do?”

“I think it’s what you need as well,” Lexa says softly.

Clarke recalls the story of Cadmus Peverell, of his lost love and their shared grief. She won’t be the one to make Lexa suffer any more than she has to. If that means she has to let Lexa go…

Clarke can’t say anything else without crying, so she just bows her head in reluctant acceptance. Lexa nods once, and silently waits for Clarke to absorb the weight of their unspoken decision.

She holds it together as they say their final goodbyes. But when Lexa looks back at her before leaving for the last time, Clarke sinks to the floor and cries.

***

“Lexa’s gone,” Clarke tells her friends at dinner the next night.

She hasn’t spoken to them until now – partly because she was still figuring out how to apologise for not being there for them like they have been for her, and partly because she’s still devastated by the fact that Lexa is gone for good.

Raven is the first person to overcome her shock over hearing Clarke’s voice for the first time in weeks.

“What do you mean?” she asks gently.

“Her spirit has moved on or whatever,” Clarke says listlessly. She scratches absentmindedly at the skin over her heart and then adds, more to herself than to anyone else, “I can’t feel her anymore.”

“I didn’t think ghosts were able to move beyond the veil – the barrier between the living and the dead,” Bellamy says with a slight frown. “They’re supposed to be trapped here.”

His insensitivity earns an elbow to the ribs from Wells, and Clarke chuckles.

“If anyone could find a way to cheat life _and_ death, it’s Lexa,” she says dryly. She can tell by their expressions that her friends don’t know what to say to comfort her, so she smiles self-deprecatingly and continues, “I didn’t get to tell her that I forgive her. For keeping this from me. For leaving when I should have been the one to go.”

For the first time, she wishes she had listened – to her friends, to her mother, to _Lexa_ – when they warned her to stay away. Because losing Lexa once was painful, but losing her twice is agonising.

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until Raven has pulled her out of her seat and her friends are crowded around her, shielding her from the watchful eyes of the other people in the Great Hall. When they reach the relative solitude of the Entrance Hall, Wells tucks her under one of his arms and holds her as she sobs, offering enough contact to comfort her without making her feel stifled. When it feels like hours have passed and she thinks that she couldn’t possibly cry any more, she looks up and catches Bellamy hastily wiping under his own eyes. Then she suddenly finds herself with an armful of Octavia, whose damp cheek smacks against her own, and the tears begin anew.

***

(They hold a small funeral for Lexa, once they’re sure that she really is gone.

“We couldn’t hold a ceremony after her death because you were so lost in your grief. And then your mum told us about the memory charm,” her friends say. “We couldn’t have her funeral without you. It wouldn’t be right.”)

***

Clarke is eating breakfast with Octavia while they wait for their other friends, when she sees green eyes staring at her from the Slytherin table across the Hall.

“Lexa,” she breathes.

Lexa smiles at her over the heads of a hundred other students. Octavia nudges Clarke’s shoulder without looking up, busy buttering her toast.

“She’s gone, remember? Stop yanking our wands.”

“No-” Clarke grabs Octavia’s chin between her finger and thumb and points at the Slytherin table. “ _Lexa_.”

Octavia’s butterknife falls to the table with a clatter. “Holy shit.”

Raven snickers as she approaches and sits down across from them. “Nice to know I’ve influenced you enough to get you saying Muggle expletives, O.”

She swigs some orange juice straight from the flask, earning a disgusted expression from Bellamy, who was trailing behind her. He sits beside her and addresses her with a wrinkled nose.

“Other people have to drink from that, you know.”

“You don’t complain when we’re drinking moonshine from the same bottle,” Raven counters smugly.

Bellamy scoffs. “That’s a completely different situation-”

“Does it even really matter?” Octavia asks exasperatedly. “We all know that you two will be swapping spit later on anyway.”

Clarke can’t even manage a laugh at their stunned expressions. She just continues staring at Lexa, who is here even though she shouldn’t be – _couldn’t_ be – and is _still_ smiling at her from across the Hall.

“Are you okay, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, finally taking notice of her ashen face.

Raven eyes her concernedly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Griffin.”

She realises her tactlessness a second too late, and her expression is wholly apologetic. Clarke isn’t the least bit affronted.

“The opposite, actually,” she says, still awed by the sight of Lexa, clearly alive and well. “Look behind you.”

Bellamy and Raven swivel around. It’s obvious when they see her too, and Clarke can’t help breathing a faint laugh.

“Holy shit,” Bellamy says dumbly.

Octavia nods. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What are you waiting for?” Raven asks Clarke, who is frozen in her seat. “Go get your girl- wait no, ghost. Girl turned ghost turned girl again? Whatever. Go get _Lexa_!”

***

The Entrance Hall is mostly empty, with only the occasional student moving between the doors to the Great Hall and the marble stairs that lead to the Grand Staircase. From the sound of shoes clicking faintly against the floor, Clarke assumes Lexa is following behind her.

Then the realisation that she can _hear_ Lexa’s presence sinks in, and Clarke’s heart stutters. She stops a few paces into the Entrance Hall, when the commotion from the breakfast-goers in the Great Hall becomes incomprehensible background noise.

“Clarke?”

Lexa’s voice comes from somewhere close behind, but Clarke can’t bring herself to turn around just yet.

“Is this real?” she breathes out, her words almost like a plea.

She hears a sigh, feels it tousle the hair that hangs messily down the back of her neck. She shivers and fights the urge to take a step backward, to let herself fall into the arms of a girl who can’t possibly exist in the same space as her, not after everything that has happened.

But then Lexa says a single word, and Clarke’s heart starts beating a wild rhythm in her chest.

“Yes.”

She spins around, and the sight of Lexa’s eyes – vibrant and green and _alive_ – leaves her breathless. Lexa’s nose is scrunched up, presumably because Clarke has accidentally whipped her in the face with her hair, but she can’t find it in her to apologise right now because Lexa is _real_ and she is _here_.

Clarke instinctively reaches out, but her hand stops just shy of Lexa’s cheek.

“This isn’t a dream?” she whispers uncertainly.

Lexa shakes her head minutely, seemingly wary of her close proximity to Clarke’s shaky hand. Her caution is for naught – as soon as Lexa assuages Clarke’s concerns, Clarke cups Lexa’s cheek in her outstretched hand and the fingers of her other hand unconsciously reach up to tangle in the roots of Lexa’s curly hair. They pull one another forward then, clamouring to be as close as they physically can. Their legs slide between one another, stomachs and chests pressed so tight that they can feel each other’s heartbeat, both sets beating butterfly fast.

Lexa gasps – or maybe Clarke does – and one of them is crying, because Clarke can feel wetness on her cheek where it presses against Lexa’s. Their noses brush, eyelashes flutter wetly against one another – Clarke belatedly realises that they’re _both_ crying – and then Lexa’s mouth finds Clarke’s, and Clarke feels like she’s on fire.

The kiss is desperate – hot and wet and messy – but Clarke couldn’t care less about technique or finesse, not right now. She can feel her pulse thrumming at every single point of contact between them – where her fingers are curled in Lexa’s hair, where Lexa’s hands grapple at the back of her robe, where Lexa’s stomach and chest move against hers with each shuddering breath.

Lexa whimpers faintly when Clarke pulls away from the kiss, her lips instinctively surging forward in search of Clarke’s, but as much as Clarke wants to keep going, they clearly have a lot to talk about.

_“How?”_ is all Clarke can manage to say.

It seems that neither of them are inclined to disentangle from one another, so they don’t. Clarke only pulls away enough to see Lexa’s face, flushed prettily from their frenzied kiss. Lexa swallows thickly – Clarke’s eyes follow the bobbing of her throat, enraptured by the motion that further affirms that Lexa is _alive_ – and she takes a moment to recover her breathing before answering.

“I came across the Bloody Baron – you know, the Slytherin ghost – in the Astronomy Tower one day, and we just got to talking. About everything. He’s not as awful as everyone makes him out to be,” Lexa says, barely above a whisper. Clarke revels in the warmth of her breath, such a difference from the icy coldness of her ghostly form. “Did you know that he accidentally killed the girl he loved, and then killed himself out of grief?”

Clarke shakes her head in the negative. “I didn’t know that.”

Lexa smiles faintly. “He says his remorse drove him to become a ghost. I believe he called it his _eternal atonement_.”

“That’s so sad,” Clarke says, furrowing her brows slightly.

Lexa nods. “We started speculating about why I was brought back. As far as we know, magical beings can only become ghosts if they choose to do so.”

“So that means you chose to?” Clarke asks, somewhat aghast.

“I didn’t intentionally choose to become a ghost,” Lexa says with a shake of her head. Then the corners of her lips twitch up into a small smile. “The only choice I remember making was _you_.”

Clarke brushes an appreciative hand down Lexa’s arm and asks, “So how did you…?”

“A ghost is the physical imprint of a person’s soul. In order to become a ghost, one must have an intact soul,” Lexa explains. “But killing rips the soul apart, which means that the Baron should not have been able to come back. However, he believes his soul was healed by the remorse that he felt over unintentionally killing his love. With his healed soul, he could become a ghost and thus deliver his self-imposed penance.”

“Okay, so the Baron was remorseful enough to fix his soul and come back as a ghost. That’s nice and all, but what does it mean for you?” Clarke asks confusedly.

“I held deep remorse over the fact that I put you in such a dangerous position in the first place. I should have never let you anywhere near Titus,” Lexa says as her brows draw together. “I could never forgive myself if he hurt you, so I did what I had to do to protect you. That was the only way I could retain my dignity and any sense of self-respect.”

Clarke melts a little in Lexa’s embrace, but she still doesn’t understand where Lexa is going with this. “What are you saying, Lexa?”

“If the Baron’s remorse could heal his soul – heal it enough to become a ghost – then perhaps my remorse helped, in part, to bring me back,” Lexa says softly.

“In part?” Clarke questions curiously.

“There is more to magic than what we learn in the classroom,” Lexa says, seemingly digressing from the topic again. “Did you know that love is the most powerful yet most mysterious branch of magic? Even now, witches and wizards have hardly touched on the true power of love. They know even less about how it works.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. _Love is the most powerful form of magic?_

Lexa chuckles at Clarke’s obvious scepticism. “You don’t have to believe me, but I _am_ telling the truth.”

Clarke huffs a laugh through her nose, “It does sound farfetched, but I believe you. What was the other thing – things? – that helped bring you back?”

“Our emotions are deeply tied to our magic,” Lexa says delicately. “It’s possible that I subconsciously chose to stay because…”

“Because?” Clarke prompts.

Lexa smiles tenderly. “Because I never got to tell you that I loved you.”

Clarke can’t help but draw Lexa into another kiss, albeit one more gentle than their last. They profess their love for one another between soft kisses and trembling breaths, until a passing student loudly reminds them that they are in a public space.

Clarke presses her lips to Lexa’s somewhat shamefaced smile, and they share a quiet laugh. They finally separate after that, but they don’t stray too far from one another.

“Remorse and love,” Clarke muses, toying with Lexa’s fingers as their hands hang between them. “We have those feelings in common, don’t we?”

Lexa hums in acknowledgement.

“You really think that’s what brought you back?” Clarke asks, not accusatorily but simply out of curiosity.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise,” Lexa says with a slight shrug. “All I know is that I am indebted to whatever magic defied death to bring me back to you. Perhaps I’ll turn a blind eye, just this once.”

They stand quietly for a time, content to just be in each other’s presence.

“Do you miss being a ghost?” Clarke asks, when her curiosity overpowers her reluctance to break the comfortable silence.

“I miss being able to walk through walls,” Lexa admits, with a half-smile. “But no otherworldly power compares to being able to touch you.”

Clarke shakes her head fondly. “Sweet-talker.”

“Truth-teller,” Lexa corrects with a smirk and a kiss to her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s probably not as exciting an ending as you expected, but it’s as sweet as i originally wanted it to be, so at least one of us is satisfied hahaha. sorry if parts of this feel disjointed or rushed – it’s been a hectic few months and i've only been able to write in ten minute intervals every other week. i don’t have any scheduled downtime until late december, but i didn’t want to keep you guys waiting until the new year for the final chapter!
> 
> thank you for the kudos and kind messages, from both the original upload and this re-upload. this is my first fic for the clexa fandom and it’s been wild. let me know what you guys thought about this chapter, and about the fic in general – good or bad, i don’t mind (but if it’s bad, at least let it be constructive!). i hope to see you guys again if i find time to write another fic :)
> 
> p.s. love is the most powerful magic, and it is not a weakness


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